


let's play pretend and hope it comes true

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Intrigue, M/M, Omega Lance (Voltron), being an omega is quite unfortunate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: The Kingdom of Altea was quickly heading towards ruin. At least, it had been until the Royal Family's eldest daughter had been born as an alpha. The people had rejoiced at her birth, and there was hope yet for a new ruler and a future secured. Even the fact that the second Royal Child had been born a beta couldn't dampen their spirits.Except Lance was not an beta. He was just an omega, trying his best to keep the charade going with a set of spells, pills, and all the tinctures he could brew because being an omega was dangerous. Being an omega made him something to be had, a rusted tool of barter worth less than scraps in return, and Altea couldn't afford to let him go.But, if Lance’s luck would have it, Prince Keith of the Blade wouldn't mind being lied to too much.





	1. Chapter 1

Lance first met Keith at one of Altea’s customary Winter Solstice Gala's, and it was as grand and gaudy as ever. They were sixteen, bursting onto the cusp of something more, searching, hopeful, and just past the age of his Presenting.

It was an important time.

It was a horrible time.

It was also Lance's first grand entrance into the world of royal power plays, and he was not particularly impressed with it. Not to mention, he wasn’t very good at it, either.

He stood off to the side, careful to greet people as expected of him as the one of the de facto hosts. They all met him kindly, and he did his best to meet their efforts with just enough saccharine flashes of his teeth to appease without saying too much. Saying too much ran him the risk of saying the wrong thing, and he was not wanting for a fiasco tonight.

He was using a new potion today to hide his scent, after all, and that was always dangerous. It made him nervous, and Coran had been in an absolute frenzy as he helped brew it, but his old medicine was no longer working, no matter how many he took.

He needed them to work.

And three tablets used to work, so he figured four or five couldn’t be that bad.

Not that bad didn’t look like vomit and bloodshot eyes, though, and that definitely wasn’t a good look for such a wondrous gathering as this. Of course, he had still puked at the taste of his most recent concoction, made of diluted fairy blood and mermaid eyes, but at least it worked.

Lance licked the inside of his mouth experimentally. He could still taste the brew lingering. He took a long sip of the wine in his hands and held it in his mouth, hoping it would help wash away the taste, even if only by a bit.

It helped masked the taste for a time, but the deep red of his drink reminded him too much of the slosh of the fairy blood all over his tunic. He had been in such a rush earlier as he threw ingredients together, pushed to the brink of crying,!that he had spilled it all over himself while Coran had hovered over him, worried and upset.

Fairy blood was not pleasant. It reeked and ran gelatinous, persistent even past death.

Lance swallowed harshly before setting his glass down. Perhaps some white wine would be more tolerable. Mermaid eyes, after all, were baby blue, not pale yellow.

As he walked to the nearest drinks table, Lance caught sight of Allura doing her royal duty far better than him. She looked fantastic, as she always did, but she was too busy playing the game to pay much attention to Lance because poor Allura was the oldest child and the alpha.

She had her duty to prosper. Lance just needed to support her as best as he could.

Long ago, they told him that she had been born a beautiful thing radiating with heat, and her eyes had been tinged silver as she peered into her own future. A successful one, undoubtedly. Alphas almost always found success in their own way, and, as the Crown Heir to the Kingdom of Altea, it was unfathomable that Allura would have seen anything beyond the prosperity of their wonderful kingdom.

The whispers always spoke of how delighted she had been while she watched her future play out before her. Even as young as he had been, still swathed in fresh, bright blood, Allura's first sound had been a delighted laugh. The silver had moved through her eyes at a quickening pace, and she had reached up to grab it using hands that still held onto their mother's amnion. There had been fervor in her movements - a good sign for better things to come.

And that was her birthright.

Success, joy, something so visceral that she had wanted for it even before she could possibly understand what it all meant. It had been exactly what the Kingdom of Altea needed, even if she couldn't actually speak of the promises of her future at all. Lance wasn't even sure she truly remembered her own glimpse into forever and after, but she moved and spoke like she did, and that was good enough.

Even now, she continued to act and move with confident ease as she spoke to the other guests, and that was just one more thing to soothe their people with.

The Kingdom of Altea would prosper once more. Her neighbors would not encroach any further.

All would be well.

Lance looked over to where Allura stood and saw Lord Kolivan standing nearby, as stoic as ever. Lord Kolivan of the Blade was not widely known for his kind or gentle nature, and, while there were hardly any overtly negative tales swirling around him, that was simply because there weren't many tales at all. He was as mysterious as the ruler of a powerful nation could possibly be, and that made him dangerous, according to the other whispers Lance sometimes overheard when all he wanted was a bedtime story to soothe his fears.

Secrecy was the source of strife. Transparency was the trademark of trust.

The alliteration was a bit grating, but it did help Lance learn both tenants by the age of seven. Coran had insisted on it, and his father hadn’t said anything otherwise.

Lance had also realized at a young age that leaders weren't all that good at either of them, and that only served to make matters worse. Being in power was difficult and often not exactly worth the trouble, but Lance found that no one wanted to give it up regardless.

His father, too, wanted to keep it as best as he could, even as wearied and worn as he was.

Allura, at least, was skilled at maintaining a tentative balance of both upon her slim shoulders. She was speaking to Kolivan now with her head held high, mouth turned up in the perfect smile - cordial and encouraging without ever encroaching upon offensive or mocking. Prince Rolo of Maris couldn't say the same thing for his own approach, Lance knew. His only blessing was that he was an alpha, but it was certainly a good blessing.

Lance watched Allura cock her head to the side lightly, and her side-swept silver hair fell over her shoulders in a pretty fell swoop. This wasn't any courtship conversation, Lance knew, but it made him nervous nonetheless. Kolivan was large, a defector of the Galra Empire with quite the impressive - intimidating - scar upon his face.

Powerful.

The scar was simply a souvenir of his conviction, Lance had once heard Kolivan say to his father. For a subject so sincere, and a wound so clear, Kolivan spoke lightly, and Lance’s father returned the gesture with a hearty clap to the shoulder, warm and welcome.

To Lance, the raised scar just looked like a painful reminder of the past, but perhaps that was the difference between him and a warrior.

Kolivan's adopted son Keith, on the other hand, didn't look all that impressive.

Compared to Kolivan, Keith was quite the scrawny little thing; his lean muscle tone was fairly apparent, even through the layers he was bundled in, but he was still short and skinny. Shorter than Lance, at least, because the top of his head barely scraped by the ornate designs on the pillar beside him, while Lance could now look upon them at eye-level.

Keith was also, quite obviously, not a Galra. He looked more like a human than anything else, with his smooth, golden-tinged skin and smaller proportions, and that wasn't all that impressive at all in the face of Kolivan's bulky, purple frame.

Still, Keith was an alpha. That was one thing he had over Lance.

Lance wondered what kind of future Keith had seen when he was born. Had he seen himself becoming taken in by Kolivan and named Prince Keith of the Blade, turned into someone so far removed from all that they were? Had he known he was destined for greatness beyond what he had first been given as a babe, crying for the first time?

Had he even cried back then?

Lance was convinced that alpha babies didn't cry. It wasn't as if they had any reason to. They were emblems of prosperity, after all, with their beautifully-won future gilded across their eyes in the most stunning silver imaginable.

Omegas couldn’t see anything.

"Excuse me - "

Lance fought hard against the sharp jolt that wanted to wrench itself out of his body at the unfamiliar voice. He hadn’t noticed anyone approaching, and that was his own fault. It didn’t do good to be caught unaware as a Royal Child, yet here he was, standing like a fool ready for the slaughter.

If they could see Lance now, Coran would probably weep. His father would likely sigh.

Lance turned slowly, breathed for the extra shot of grace, and found Prince Keith suddenly in front of him.

Up close, Keith really was shorter than Lance, but it was only by a touch. He was also fairly attractive, too, even past the ridiculous mullet he had. His eyes were gray nestled in white, unlike the jarring yellow of most Galra’s eyes, and his lips looked smooth and plump.

Not to mention, his pheromones were strong. Lance had caught a whiff of it earlier from across the room, but, amidst the sea of alphas that were there, Keith’s scent hardly stood out among the rest. Now that he was so close, though, he smelled like burnt cinders on lingering ashes and fresh wood and the remnants of a thunder crash over the ocean before the calm.

Lance found that he quite liked the smell. It was so strong he could even taste it, and it melted nice and easy against his tongue. He swallowed it down and did his best to savor it before the dissipate.

Then, Lance blinked himself out of his reverie and hoped that Keith hadn’t noticed anything - he hoped that he hadn’t accidentally let anything slip.

But Keith looked the same as ever, with same smooth, boyishly handsome face and no sign that he was interested by much of anything in particular.

Lance was glad.

“Excuse me,” Keith repeated. His voice held a hint of a rasp, strange for an alpha who almost always had smoothed honey voices for the power it helped convey and the omegas it helped to soothe, but Lance didn’t dislike it. “I was wondering if I could have the next dance with you.”

Lance blinked. “With me?”

Keith nodded. “Who else here could I be asking?”

Lance didn’t move to look around. He could clearly tell that no one else was nearby through scent alone, and their murmurs suddenly seemed so far.

“I just thought you’d prefer to cozy up to someone more influential, instead of a beta like me,” Lance replied easily. “That is what these things are for, you know.”

“Oh?” Keith hummed. “I was sure this gala was a celebration of the Winter Solstice. You Alteans do tend to love your moon so, do you not?”

Lance shrugged. “The moon is our light. Those may sound like a failing romantic’s last words, but they’re ours.”

“I didn’t mean to offend at all,” Keith soothed, and there was that low, smooth rumble Lance knew to be distinctly alpha and decidedly infuriating. Except, it sounded unfairly appealing coming from Keith. “I think it’s a very sweet sentiment, and I quite like the fact that you have an entire celebration for your longest light. It’s given me a chance to meet you, after all, which is plenty reward enough for being here.”

Lance blinked again, but, this time, his eyelashes fluttered from beyond his volition, and Keith’s image shimmered like the afterimage of a pixie wing dream. Really, Lance hadn’t felt this light hearted since his errant crush on that one Blade soldier that had visited for a few months had stuck him during his absolute worst bout of puberty.

Keith didn’t look anything like Thace, though, and Lance felt strange having the feeling return so viciously like this.

“I wasn’t aware you were such a charmer,” Lance finally managed to get out, voice kept as smooth as he could manage. “I didn’t think the Blade valued social skills so highly.”

“We may value combat more than Alteans do, but that doesn’t mean we don’t understand the importance of diplomacy,” Keith replied. He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, and a few loose locks of dark hair fell before him, slow and moonlit.

Lance watched them float, suddenly unaware that he could do anything else, and found himself gazing straight into Keith’s eyes. Keith looked back with pillowed amusement.

“Have you thought of your answer yet?” Keith whispered, stepping close. The embers burned brighter, and Lance inhaled the smoke in deep, holding them in until he was left to bursting.

“For your invitation?”

Keith nodded, smiling, and his hand was already outstretched, so how could Lance do anything except for take it like the little fool he had been reduced to?

Lance was a skilled dancer, he knew. He had taken lessons on it for almost all his life just for moments like these; it didn’t do any good to make himself look bad by stumbling over something so mundane, after all.

And Lance already had a few things to make up for. This was the least he could do.

Keith, on the other hand, was awkward at best. His feet moved the direction they were supposed to, but they were stiff and often not flung far wide enough for Lance to step in-between comfortably. Lance found himself becoming stiff in return, and their whole rhythm was thrown off in no time.

If this poor dancing was just an act to keep Lance closer to Keith, it was _technically_ working, but Lance wasn’t exactly moved.

“Have you never danced with anyone before?” Lance asked, only half-teasing as he maneuvered away from stepping on Keith’s foot. “Or are you simply that excited to be holding onto my waist right now?”

“Well, I suppose the excitement is part if it, but I will admit that I’m not the best dancer,” Keith said. “They tell me I have two left hands for feet.”

“That’s almost impressive, in its own way.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Too bad Lance spoke too soon.

Keith took a step forward, but it was too broad, not at all in time with the music, and a downright poor choice for the style of dance they were supposed to be doing for this kind of song.

Lance found that didn’t know how to meet this kind of move. All he could do was try to make his resulting stumble as graceful as possible and hope that people weren’t looking too closely because this was his first real foray into the political sphere, and he didn’t want to muck it up all because of a dance.

Except, he was suddenly pitching forward, a hand on the small of his back keeping him upright, and he found himself pulled up flush against Keith, nose skimming the edges of hair instead of sprawling backwards and desperate for purchase. Lance felt the give of flesh instead of the unyielding floor, and it was so unexpected that it was near unsettling.

“Sorry about that,” Keith breathed. It was warm against Lance’s neck. “I have those two left hands, you know.”

“Yes, I see that now,” Lance breathed back. “Thanks for helping me up.”

“It was the least I could do.”

Keith’s hand was still there, resting firm right against the curve of Lance’s lower back, and they were so close. Lance peered around them and found everyone else too busy to pay attention to them, fortunately.

He saw of the other party-goers were content to fawn over Princess Nyma, which was not surprising, stunning and powerful as she was. Others were mingling with each other with soft smiles and sharp eyes, making the most of their time together. They spoke in light tones that were impossible to hear over the lull of the music and Lance’s own breathing, but he doubted he’d care even if he could hear them with Keith in front of him.

Lord Kolivan was still preoccupied with Allura, who still had her back to the rest of them. Coran was off attending to the needs of some of their more high maintenance attendees, and his father was out of sight, probably working hard to make all the connections Altea still needed while maintaining the barrier around the castle.

So, like this, even in the middle of a crowded banquet hall and swaddled in the best silks and jewels, Lance felt singular and light, save for the pulse of Keith’s chest as he breathed.

Keith’s grip tightened, and Lance’s breath hitched.

“Would you like to go somewhere else for a bit?” Keith asked. “I clearly can’t even pretend to dance, but I’m afraid we’ll be accosted by others in no time if we simply stand around here talking.”

As Keith spoke, the clouds overhead lifted with the breeze. The moon was back, big and beautiful, directly overhead. Her light shone with care over top Keith, highlighting the slope of his nose enticingly, as if she were simultaneously mocking and offering her condolences to Lance.

It was crooked, Lance noted. He wondered how Keith had broken it.

Then, he nodded because the moonlight was simply too stunning to ignore, and it made him feel giddy, even if it was making him too loose.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Keith’s hand lifted as they separated from each other before walking away. The space leftover was bereft without it, and Lance felt hot.

He bit the inside of his mouth until the metal tang of his blood glazed the crevices of his teeth because Lance was always weak to alphas, even when he couldn’t afford to be.

He licked the outside of this teeth clean before smiling. The taste was unpleasant, but at least it helped hide the aftertaste of the potion for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or are interested in a writing commission, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
> i'm also possibly interested in taking some prompts on tumblr, if you guys are also interested in that haha


	2. Chapter 2

The air was cold, and Lance thought that, perhaps, this had been a complete error in judgement.

He shivered against the thin folds of his dress suit and lamented. It certainly made him look good, designed with elegant display for potential suitors in mind, but it was nowhere near ideal for gallivanting out into the cold with handsome young princes sworn to a nation of Galra defectors.

The fact that Lance could never actually marry anyone was beside the point. He had to keep up appearances, nonetheless. Doing otherwise would make him look even more suspicious.

Keith saddled up beside him and, without another word, slung his own suit jacket over Lance’s shoulders. It was large and fur-lined, more akin to a cloak than anything else, but it was incredibly comfortable and warm. It also held Keith’s lingering scent, trapped tightly by the dense furs within.

If Lance wrapped it up tight around himself, the front of Keith’s coat just barely covered his nose, smothering him with Keith’s scent bundled in the plush. It smelled ashier amidst the furs, but it was no less enticing. He let his nose fall further into the coat’s folds and breathed in deep.

He was being weak.

Lance hastily pulled his nose free before turning to face Keith. Even then, the smell lingered in the back of his nose down to base of his tongue, and Lance had to force it down fast to get it away.

“Thank you,” Lance whispered. “But aren’t you cold yourself?”

“I’m fine. I suspect that my clothes are much thicker than yours.” Keith ran his eyes up Lance’s body, and Lance was once again grateful for the bulk of the coat for hiding his tremble. “Though, your outfit is definitely stunning.”

“Altea does love to show off its riches, such as the fine silks we export, even if it means that the wind chill is able to bury deeper than one would like," Lance said.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. The moon cast her light down upon him once again, and he wore it with excellence. “I forgot how cold it was today.”

“You’ve apologized to me twice already, and we’ve only just met."

“I’m afraid I must be setting a poor example of myself, then.”

Lance hummed. “No, it’s fine. I just think you’re being hasty with your apologies.”

Keith watched him curiously. “It’s refreshing to hear a revered prince such as yourself saying that. Most of the other royal children I’ve met have been cavalier, to say the least.”

“I think you’d be surprised at how lax members of royalty can be,” Lance said, offhand and light. “To be frank, I suspect you don’t know simply because they don’t respect you yet. You only have a few tournament victories to your name as prince, after all.”

Keith’s brow flew up in time with the breeze, and Lance belatedly thought that it might have been for the best of he just hadn’t said that last part.

Allura would've known better.

“Is that what people think of me?” Keith asked. Lance couldn’t place his tone, but it made him anxious regardless. “What _you_ think of me?”

It wasn’t, but it was. It wasn’t all Lance thought of Keith, but there wasn’t much else he could use to fully replace those whisper-laden thoughts.

Keith’s appointment to princedom had been sudden, to say the least, and there had been plenty of talk just from that. Then, he had been revealed, shown off as a minute thing compared to Kolivan and all his counselors, not a Galra in the slightest, and the talk only continued.

Not to mention, while his tournament victories hadn’t been small feats, they did not make one the heir to a throne rooted in power.

Usually.

Keith was not usual.

He was still the Prince of the Blade.

The Blade of Marmora wasn’t exactly an invaluable ally now, but all of the Altean council members believed she very well could be within a few years.

Lance was already messing this up.

“My apologies,” Lance breathed quickly. His breath puffed in front of him, giving his wanting attempt at an apology a form to be gazed upon with apprehensive pity. “I spoke far too harshly and without thought. My words ring false, and I take them back with all my breath.”

Lance bowed his head down and refused to look up at Keith through the short fall of his bangs because that was uncouth. For now, all Lance could do was wait and fret as he stared down at the freshly-washed cobblestone, hoping for something close to best.

Best was, evidently, an understatement.

“Please, don’t bow your head to me like that,” Keith said, soft. Lance dared to peek up and saw Keith smiling down at him lightly, face framed by Lance’s eyelashes. “Do you really think I’m so weak that I can’t handle the truth?”

Lance stood up slowly, and he brought his eyes up to meet Keith’s with the utmost care. Keith gazed back with a softness that had Lance’s throat clenching against the last few remnants of Keith’s scent.

“It was still uncalled for,” Lance eventually murmured when he could swallow again, “blatantly insulting you like that.”

“Is it really an insult if it’s the truth?”

“Isn’t it?”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s not as if we all aren’t aware that Kolivan has been doing everything on the diplomatic front, while I’ve just been slinking around in the corner like some wild beast waiting for his chance to kill. At least, that’s how some people look at me.”

“Well, if I had to guess, I would say any looks like that have more to do with the fact that you’re adopted as opposed to the fact that you don’t have much notoriety to your name, but you probably know best than me," Lance said.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m also well aware of that,” Keith scoffed. “There are plenty of soldiers and noble children who think they deserve to be in my position. I even know exactly who these dissenters are. They don’t exactly try to hide their hearty gossip from me.”

“And Lord Kolivan has done nothing to deter them?”

“No,” Keith said. “Why would he? This is my problem, so I have to be the one to resolve it. I can’t expect Kolivan to hold my hand through everything, or else I’ll never become the young prince the Blade deserves.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that line of reasoning,” Lance mused, “even if I think throwing you into the fray so casually is a bit harsh. You’ve only been his heir for a few years now, yes?”

“All the more reason for me to win everyone’s favor as quickly as possible.” Keith smiled, and his pinched face smoothed as he did so, like the pull of Lance’s favorite taffy being stretched silky by the local confectioner. Somehow, Keith looked sweeter.

"I have heard that you’re at least quite skilled with a blade. Even if it's all people know of you, the news of your most recent tournament victory had been quite the subject of gossip for awhile, even here within the castle walls."

Keith’s smile tilted in a smirk, and something about that was too much. He buried himself deeper inside Keith’s jacket to help ground himself, but all that did was swaddle him further within Keith’s musk.

“Oh?” Keith lilted, still smirking so horribly handsome at Lance. At the ripe of age of sixteen and tempered with nothing more than a tear-filled potion that hid his scent but did nothing to actually curb his instincts, Lance found himself smitten in the way most sixteen year old boys tended to be.

That was to say, Lance wanted to feel Keith’s flesh against his own and wanted Keith’s scent fresh around him, warm, earthy, and lingering strong over his prickled skin.

Except, even Keith's beautiful scent couldn’t distract Lance from Keith who was ever-so-subtly leaning in close, grey eyes gleaming as the moon watched them.

“Did you also have a lot to say about my recent tournament victory?” Keith asked, and that nice alpha tone of his was back. Lance really needed to make more effective tinctures in the future, even if they tasted worse and sat heavy in his stomach, because he could not have his omega inclinations running this rampant in the face of cute alpha princes anymore. It was simply impossible for a single person to handle this.

Lance hoped his blush looked like nothing more than the pink frost of a chill over his face.

“It’s always beneficial to be aware of what the royals and nobles of other nations are doing,” Lance explained lamely. Keith tilted his head to the side as Lance spoke, and now Keith’s cheekbones were on full display. Lance’s eyes rolled over their slopes down to Keith’s lips before an awkward cough escaped from Lance’s mouth. “But I will admit that it was very impressive. I probably would have made note of it regardless of who you were.”

“I’m glad you were so thoroughly moved by my performance,” Keith said lowly.

“Well, yes. It is quite the feat, taking down a chimera without any magic,” Lance breathed.

Keith moved closer. Lance didn’t know how because he had already been so close, but here he was - closer yet.

Lance licked his cold, chapped lips and tasted fire alight upon the waves, salty and soaked with the leftover burn that clung steadfast to his throat. He hoped the flavor remained for some time.

“The chimera probably would’ve been a simple enemy to defeat for you,” Keith said.

“I’m not sure about that. Even with magic, chimeras are tricky at best and decidedly deadly at worst.”

“It’s a shame alphas don’t typically have much of an affinity for the magical arts,” Keith murmured.

“It’s just about one of the only things I can do for Altea.”

Keith frowned, but he didn’t at all look any less handsome for it. “I doubt that’s true at all.”

“It’s fine,” Lance whispered. “I’m grateful for it, even if it means I can’t be the one guarantee a sound future for my people.”

It was a lie and a truth wrapped into a single, neat package.

Because Lance truly did appreciate his magic, something he surely wouldn’t have as an alpha; Allura wasn’t able to harness any at all, and their father’s skills was limited at best. If Lance were being honest, all their father could manage were a few parlor tricks and a bit of stabilization to Altea's barrier. Lance, at least, had the power to help spur on the development of some crops and exports.

It was the biggest thing he was known for, but it was not a bad thing at all.

On the other hand, Lance was not fine.

His potion was making itself known again. It churned through his stomach, and he could feel the thick slide of the fairy blood in the back of his throat like an afterimage made real. It had felt cold as he drank it, startlingly so, but now it was hot, and he could hardly stand this new burn.

Not to mention, he was still caught up in Keith’s scent, wanting and wondering what it’d be like to have more.

He lightly shook his head. Keith was watching him in rapt silence.

Lance had to say something. It would be strange if he didn’t.

He had to stop being so damn conspicuous.

“The moon really is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Lance asked suddenly.

They were almost at the highest point of the night, and the air was even colder than before, but Keith somehow remained unfazed as the wind picked up.

“It really is beautiful.”

Keith spoke about the moon, but he didn’t look up at it. He had his eyes fixed on Lance’s face, instead, and Lance hated how easily flustered he was becoming just from someone’s glance.

He felt like the court jester today - a fool made for others’ amusement, but at least Keith was being nice about it.

“Your eyes, too,” Keith added. “It’s like they have their own moon inside.”

Lance couldn’t keep looking at Keith for this long. It was intimidating. “These eyes are a symbol of my heritage - proof of my royalty.”

“From the legend, right? After the first King of Altea caught stars for their magic before being granted the love of his life by the moon.”

“Yes. I’m not sure how accurate a tale like that could possibly be, but that’s how the story goes.”

“Either way, they’re lovely,” Keith said.

Lance was going to hurl.

He was going to puke up old potion all over Keith because it did not want to stay down at all, and that was so, so unfortunate. He pursed his lips tightly even though this was the moment for a gratefully extended, “Thank you”.

Keith watched him with that smile still on his face, and everything felt acutely unfair.

“Keith, there you are.”

They both turned. Lance made sure to move slowly to avoid growing even dizzier than he already was. Haltingly, his vision stabilized on the sight of Lord Kolivan and Allura watching them from the ballroom doorway.

“I was wondering where you had gone,” Kolivan continued. He moved to stand in front of Keith, dwarfing him in comparison. “One of the young princesses was eager to make your acquaintance.”

The demand for more connections was unspoken, but it weighed on all of them heavily.

“Oh,” Keith said. “Yes, of course. My apologies, I got caught up in my conversation with Prince Lance here.”

Lance swallowed down his bile to speak. This time, it felt more reminiscent of the squelch of the mermaid eyes than the fairy blood. That didn’t make it any more pleasant. “I also offer my apologies for monopolizing Prince Keith’s time for so long.”

He turned to Keith. “Please, feel free to go and enjoy the rest of the festivities with our other guests.”

For a moment, Keith looked as though he were about so say something to the contrary. Beneath Kolivan’s shadow, Keith’s eyes looked darker, and his lips were stretched thin.

Then, he extended Lance another smile, stiffer than before. “I will. Thank you for your time.” The smile loosened. “I hope to speak to you again sometime soon.”

“As do I,” Lance whispered, and it was the absolute truth.

Allura waited until Kolivan and Keith left before speaking, but Lance interrupted her when sound of her breath hit the cold.

“I’m sorry,” Lance breathed. “I have to go- go to the washroom or something. This new potion is not agreeing with me.”

Without another word, Allura was by his side. She didn’t fling her arms around him for support as he would have provided they were alone, but she did rest a firm hand on his shoulder. It was nice.

“Go, quickly,” Allura whispered into his ear. “If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them there was some spell you had to attend to.”

Lance nodded. It would be easy to also tell others that he simply wasn’t feeling well, but easy never produced good results, nor was it impressive to their guests.

He quickly scurried away around the side of the castle before sneaking back in through one of his own hidden entryways so the guards wouldn’t question him as to why he was acting like a base thief in his own home.

He burst into the nearest bathroom, locked it behind him, and retched as soon as he felt the porcelain beneath his hands.

Surprisingly, the concoction tasted better coming up than it did going down.

A few solid pukes were all it took for him to feel better, but he couldn’t return to the gala like this, reeking of both vomit and pheromones.

He sighed and raised an arm to wipe away at his mouth before realizing that he still had Keith’s jacket on. Thankfully, he hadn’t soiled it at all, but he needed to be rid of it before his own scent started to seep inside.

Reluctantly, he peeled it off, holding it in front of him with only the tips of his fingernails. He felt sad and bereft with it gone, but he pushed that thought away before rushing back to his quarters. There, his own personal guards bowed as they let him inside.

When they did so, Lance could never see their faces, but he was sure that they pitied him and his growing scent.

But that was fine. They were loyal beyond belief, and their naturally strong pheromones helped hide his own, so Lance could bare a bit of pity if it helped keep the act going.

Kinkade lifted his head up just a touch and gave Lance a sharp nod. Lance returned it as best as he could past the burn in his throat.

The show must go on, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the festival passed slowly.

Lance spent the next day trying to purge that horrible taste out of his mouth as he worked with Romelle to come up with a new scent-blocking aid before the farewell ceremony was set to begin. It was tedious and taxing, but it needed to be done. He was just grateful to have Romelle there with him so he didn’t have to burn himself with magic alone.

Finally, in the lightening hours of the night, they settled on a spell powered by elven breath.

“I’ll use my magic to help stabilize it,” Romelle said, at the ready. “We’ll need to use yours to harness the elven breath, though.”

Lance nodded because he had to. He had to trap the elven breath within his own magic even though it was terribly difficult. Elves didn’t like feeling trapped; their breath was no different.

To no one's surprise, it rebelled against him viciously, tearing apart the tentative hold his magic had over it, crashing and thrashing against him. It sheared at him, displeased, and Lance was displeased too, but he _needed_ this.

He needed to be at the farewell ceremony or else tongues would wag.

Romelle sat close beside him, the warmth of her knee pressed against his own, and he was grateful for the stable sense of comfort she provided. She tried her best to help, but there was only so much she could do when this spell was meant for him.

Eventually, the breath settled, and Lance was able to swallow it down as it grew further fatigued. It didn’t feel nice inside his lungs, far too foreign and unwilling, but at least Lance didn’t puke.

“It’s done,” Romelle said after a few terse moments.

“Thank you.” Lance peered out the window and saw the sun rise. “And just in time, too.”

He stood up on shaky legs with Romelle there to guide him through the halls, hand on his back as they turned. It was a simple, benign gesture from the outside, but she carefully poured in little tendrils of her own magic to keep his legs from buckling.

In her other hand laid Keith’s coat.

Lance wasn’t supposed to go anywhere except for the preparations room, but he thought this was an important task. It wouldn’t do them any good to offend the young Prince of the Blade by stealing his wares.

He could’ve convinced himself with a worse excuse.

Kinkade has been kind enough to tell Lance where Keith was staying after a bit of lip wibbling on Lance’s part, and here they were, in front of Keith’s guest quarters. He would’ve known Keith was in here even without Kinkade’s help, though, because it smelled so clearly of Keith, even from outside.

Carefully, and with the elven breath finally beginning to ease itself into his blood, Lance knocked.

It didn’t take long for Keith to open the door. He looked up at Lance owlishly, presumably expecting someone else because hhis new outfit, darker and sleeker, was still half-askew.

Still, it looked good.

“Good morning,” Lance said quietly.

Keith blinked, expression still shocked before he did his best to recover. “Hello, and a good morning to you, too. I wasn’t expecting to see you before the farewell ceremony later today.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with a few of the barrier spells.”

“Don’t apologize. I understand. Duty comes first,” Keith said with a wry grin. “I’m glad you’ve come to see me regardless.”

Lance’s chest was roiling with magic, almost like heartburn but far worse. “I came to return your coat. I realized I forgot to give it back to your during the first night, and I didn’t want you to leave without it.”

“I see.” As if noticing her for the first time, Keith extended Romelle a dip of his head, which she readily returned. “To be honest, I had completely forgotten.”

Keith turned his attention back to Lance, and Lance couldn’t help but notice how well Keith’s new suit fit him. “But I’d like you to keep it, if it pleases you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’d like you to have it,” Keith said, “so you won’t forget me.”

“Oh,” Lance gusted. He felt the elven breath making itself known by putting a stutter in Lance’s voice, which was simply wonderful. He swallowed and took strength from Romelle’s presence before continuing. “Thank you, but I’m not sure what gave you the impression that I would forget you.”

Keith shrugged. “I’m sure you meet plenty of nice royalty all the time. I’m just a drop in the ocean of faces, but I’d like to be more.”

Lance’s breath hitched, and he almost coughed out the haughty laugh of en elf mocking the heat behind his eyes as a result.

“You should think more highly of yourself,” Lance said in its place. “You’re not easily forgettable.”

“I’ll believe that if you still remember me the next time we meet,” Keith replied, voice back to silk. “Until then, I won’t keep you. You must have your own fair share of preparations for today.”

Lance nodded. It was odd with how lightheaded he felt. “Yes. I’ll be off, then. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in Altea.”

“I did. It was fantastic, meeting you,” Keith said simply, and then he was gone, and Lance was gone too.

“It’s a nice coat,” Romelle noted once they were out of sight, “and he seems like a nice guy.”

She eyed him with a sly smile, and Lance didn’t even bother masking his blush because he knew Romelle wouldn't be fooled in the slightest. He said nothing in return, but he didn’t need to because she was chuckling at him regardless, jacket hold safe and close to her side.

The preparations were a blur. Lance was exhausted from staying up all night long, but, thankfully, Allura and Coran were able to man most of the tasks, only occasionally asking Lance for some of his magic. It came out easily, grateful for the opportunity to escape the wandering elven breath it kept meeting. Romelle was there to help, too, even past her own fatigue, and then he was getting fitted into one of his finer suits.

Once, towards the end, his father rested his hand on Lance’s forehead. He smoothed it upwards, raking his fingers through Lance’s hair, and smiled.

Lance smiled back and felt everything calm for just a moment.

As usual, the farewell ceremony was a glorious occasion full of song, flowers in the breeze, and intricate dress. Honestly, the whole scene was borderline obnoxious to Lance, but he couldn’t say that he absolutely abhorred it.

Especially not when Keith looked so good.

It was not an easy feat to spot someone clearly from where Lance stood, raised above nearly everyone else, but his eyes were drawn near immediately to wear Keith stood, and they refused to budge.

It was still cold, and Kolivan was dressed in his own furs, but Keith stood firm without his coat.

And he looked undeniably attractive.

Keith’s suit, now worn properly, cut his figure with precision, highlighting his burgeoning shoulders and his already slim waist. His calves, too, were a sight to behold within his fitted trousers, even as slight as they were compared to Kolivan’s.

From behind Lance, Romelle coughed out an aborted laugh, and, from beside him, Allura cocked a delicate eyebrow in question.

He ignored them both. It was easy to, seeing as how it was their turn now.

They weren’t truly going to lift the barrier at all because letting it up for even a moment of an old, traditional event was dangerous. They could, however, fake it for the sake of a few coos of admiration for the artistry of it all.

Lance gripped onto the thin sheet of magic he had helped manifest; it was reminiscent of a thin curtain, decorated with beautiful displays of faraway constellations and buried dreams. He saw his fingers waver through it, as if he were holding the stars in his grasp.

Was this how Keith had viewed his eyes the other night?

He didn’t have much longer to ponder that because it was time to lift the shroud. Carefully, he held on and lifted in time with his father’s flick of the wrist, and, thanks to a bit of magic, the magic waved and shimmered over their guests, lifting above them and setting them free with a sorry farewell.

Of course, it did nothing in actuality, but it certainly looked nice. He could hear the frantic whispers from the crowd as their guests starting leaving, Keith and Kolivan included.

Then, without warning, Keith turned and looked up straight at Lance. Even as far as they were, Lance could see the grey in his eyes and the way his mouth moved before he turned away again, headed back to Marmora alongside Kolivan.

Lance couldn’t even begin to guess what Keith had tried to say to him. However, as he slept, wrapped up in Keith’s fur and scent - just for now because he needed time to air out his own scent - he thought maybe he could hear Keith’s voice.

He still didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded nice either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unsure how i feel about this chapter
> 
> but thanks for reading and let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or are interested in a writing commission, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
> i'm also possibly interested in taking some prompts on tumblr, if you guys are also interested in that haha


	3. Chapter 3

Their second meeting was even colder than the first.

As fate would have it, Marmora was a frigid land adorned with mountaintops that w ere perpetually snow-capped while its bird songs were always stifled against the cold air.

Unfortunately, Lance had never been especially resilient against the cold. But, as fate would have it, he had a nifty fur-lined coat over his shoulders as he entered the Blade’s castle grounds. After nearly a year, the jacket was now completely devoid of Keith’s scent, but it still felt like his somewhere in its crevices.

For that, Lance was grateful.

“It suits you quite well,” Allura said. Her heels clipped loudly against the waxed floors, but she all but floated as she walked, beautiful as ever. “I just wish you’d also let me wear it every so often. I know this may surprise you, but I want to let you know that I also get cold sometimes.”

“But it wasn’t meant for you,” Lance argued very rationally. “If I let you wear it, your scent will linger. For all we know, Prince Keith could grow offended if he senses that I’ve let other people wear it.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a potential conclusion to be drawn,” Allura drawled, lips pursed with clear doubt.

Lance stared at Allura unimpressed. She returned his look with a challenging smirk. From somewhere nearby, their father let slip a pleased chuckle.

Coran, too, was there to do his best as their cheerful peacemaker.

“Don’t fret Princess,” he said, chippered. “I’m sure we can get you your own fur coat somewhere nearby. I’ve heard tale that the Castle of Marmora has their own seamstresses who are downright marvelous at their job. We can find you a warm coat while simultaneously showing our goodwill by purchasing the Blade’s goods.”

Romelle was also more than eager to add in her thoughts.

“Princess Allura, are you not aware? Coats are _exceptionally_ sacred gifts, and they are not meant to be shared. Why, doing so could cause an international scandal!” Romelle teased, voice lilted for emphasis.

“You’re right. I am loathe to think that I’ve forgotten such a cardinal rule of gift-giving,” Allura replied, obviously delighting in the chance to keep the act going. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Lance.”

Lance gaped before turning to Kinkade at his other side. “You are my only ally now, it seems.”

“Yes. Supporting you is my job, is it not?” Kinkade mused. “I shall endeavor to help you avoid any international gift mishaps, my prince. I’m not sure you could do so yourself.”

Lance gaped at him further, this time through narrowed eyes. The banquet hadn’t even begun, but he already felt worn.

“Now, now,” his father soothed. He reached out two hands, one for both Allura and Lance’s shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Lance watched the other three fall behind them in step. “We’re guests to the Blade’s first banquet, and it will only last a few days. We have so much more time beyond that to tease each other as you wish.”

Lance bowed his head under his father’s touch, and, as if in time with his father’s words, the gold-laden doors in front of them opened, inviting them into castle’s banquet halls.

The walls and tables of the Blade’s castle weren’t nearly as lavish as the ones within Altea’s royal castle, but they were stunning nonetheless, dark and slick where Altea was bright and beaded. There were already plenty of other guests inside, whispering and huddled close - glad to be amongst the few invited as honored guests to the Blade’s first formal gathering, yet cowed and unsure as to what exactly what they were expected to do here.

Lance knew because he felt the same.

He stood near the back. Evidently, they were the late arrivals. The door closed behind them with barely a sound, and he felt warmed, exponentially so compared to the frost of the hallway falling away behind them. Regardless, he refused to even shift the coat off his shoulders because the weight now erred on comforting more than warm.

He remained silent in the middle of the chattering. There would be plenty of time for talk later. For now, they were to wait for the true guests of honor to arrive. Lance was, admittedly, as excited as he was anxious. He gripped the hem of the coat’s oversized arms tighter and waited for what he wanted.

Lord Kolivan emerged first, as large and regal as ever. He stood on the stair step balcony above the rest of them, intimidating but fitted with something almost like home in the way his lips twitched at the sight of them all. His personal guards moved quickly to join him, and they were decidedly less welcoming.

Then, without a single word, those waiting on the front bowed low. As the slow roll of reverence approached them, Lance and the rest of his entourage readily followed suit with a sharp dip of the head and downward tilt of the knee, low enough for the back of their fingertips to sweep against the floor in a sideways arc. Even the undercurrents of magic on Marmora felt foreign compared to that which laid on Altea.

This magic felt vindicated.

Lance lifted with the gentle breeze of the upward draft of the cloak in front of him, and he looked up with rapture.

Keith was not there.

Lord Kolivan was primed to give his ceremonial greeting even though Keith wasn’t there. Lance worried at his lip and told himself to keep waiting, just for a touch longer.

“Welcome all. I humbly thank you all for making the journey here and agreeing to being amongst the first of many honored and esteemed guests here in Marmora.” Lord Kolivan spoke with an absolution that Lance’s father would never have, try hard as he may. He snuck a glance his father’s way and saw a pinkprick at the side of his eyes. The wrinkle there was growing deeper, and the clench, while not entirely unpleasant, wasn’t exactly content, either.

Lance turned his attention back to Kolivan, but his mind wandered. If anyone cared to know, Lance thought very highly of his father as King.

Most people didn’t care to know.

“I am delighted to be here with you during this show of goodwill and peace,” Kolivan continued. “But I will not keep you all much longer. Please, feast and enjoy what Marmora has to offer. I will be down to give you a more personal greeting soon.”

Polite applause filled the room, but Lance could only clap on absentmindedly because Keith was still not there.

“My prince, please don’t look so somber,” Coran whispered, clapping Lance on the back congenially. “There’s food and company to be had aplenty! Now, let us enjoy ourselves for as long as we can.”

Lance let himself be whisked away into the fray where he absentmindedly greeted those who were interested in being greeted by him. Princess Nyma was there, and she was happy to flick her enticing little smile Lance’s way. He gave her a smile and a nod, and she returned it with glee and the familiarity of two young adults who have spent too much time pretending to gawk at each other menacingly when all they truly wanted was something more substantial than finger food.

Prince Rolo was there, too. The look they shared was not as well-rehearsed, but their strange sense of solidarity was there nonetheless. Then, Rolo found himself wrapped up in Nyma’s company, and the moment was over.

They spoke with each other through hushed, fervent whispers, and Lance was left to his own devices as he loitered near food spread. At least the selection there was good, despite it less than stellar appearance.

“Can you believe what Lady Laod’ka is wearing?”

Lance turned mid-bite and found Romelle beside him. Beside her stood Kinkade, aloof like always. Then, he looked over to where Lady Laod’ka stood, covered in the finest jewels and the head and neck of a freshly-slain kelpie wrapped carefully around her slim shoulders while the rest of its massive bulk fell away behind her. Its mane of seaweed shone beautifully under the lights, likely garnished with glitter and even a few jewels buried within to match the light green of its carefully reserved flesh.

It was her old steed, slaughtered with a blessing at the brink of old age. She wore it with pride and reverence, but Lance still wished she would have closed its eyes. Behind her, one of her husband’s omegas - one of his favorites from his harem, Lance presumed - trailed after her, holding up the kelpie’s tail to keep it from dragging across the floor.

Every so often, Lady Laod’ka would stop or turn suddenly, leaving her omega handmaiden floundering behind her, tail slipping from her grasp and feet clambering over the hem of her own dress, long and loose as they were supposed to be for omegas.

Clearly, that all pleased Laod’ka greatly. Her husband, Lord Ajaiw, watched on with nothing more than the barest hint of indifference as he spoke to others.

“It certainly is striking,” Lance murmured as he watched the handmaiden scoop up the fallen kelpie tail once more.

“She could have at least trimmed her kelpie’s tail a bit,” Romelle whispered angrily. “I know that’s not considered disrespectful. In fact, I would consider a scene like this even worse. Look at her, turning her nose up at her own steed for the sake of making her husband’s mistress look the fool.”

“She always has been the spiteful sort. Just look at what happened to his first child,” Lance whispered back.

Kinkade didn’t say anything in return, but Lance could feel the brief quicken of his breath as he shuffled closer to Lance, using his body to block away the sight of Lady Laod’ka as best as he could.

Lord Ajaiw’s first child had been a beautiful, healthy alpha boy, and that usually would have been that. Except, he had been born from one of his other omegas before quickly disappearing without a trace following Laod’ka’s ascension to Mother Monarch. The official statements all pointed to an unfortunate accident, but the whispers spoke of something else, and, suddenly, all of the members of Ajaiw’s harem were forced to become sterilized.

Lance bit the inside of his cheek and felt his appetite wash away from him. “I suppose this is simply how it is sometimes.”

“What are you all doing, huddled together like so instead of mingling with the other guests?”

Lance glanced up and there was Allura, standing in the place where the kelpie had once been. Elsewhere, Coran and their father were speaking to other foreign dignitaries as they slowly tried to make their way to where Lord Kolivan was being all but mobbed by other guests, eager to see whether or not the Blade was truly worth the effort of allying with.

Compared to them, Lance thought that he probably did look like some sad eighth child sulking in the corner, but this new enchantment was making him nervous.

“We were simply taking note of who else is here,” Lance said. “Lady Laod’ka is quite notable.”

“She is… very upfront today,” Allura said. “I’m not sure whether or not this display of hers will do her much good in the end, though.”

“At the very least, she’ll be memorable,” Lance said. He wasn’t sure if her handmaiden would be remembered as much, but that was likely for the best.

Allura nodded once before reaching for some food for herself, and Lance decided that perhaps some drink would do him more good than the food if he really wanted to forget about Lady Laod’ka and the sad handmaiden trailing behind her everywhere, happy just to be away from Lord Ajaiw for now.

Except, Lance’s new spell to hide his pheromones didn’t make it easy for him to handle most wines, as he had unfortunately discovered at the beginning of the night - and poor Kinkade for having to catch Lance’s heaving as they made their way to the washrooms. Thankfully, the Blade’s own, unique booze, sweet on the tongue yet a hint bitter on the way down, agreed with him well enough.

It was also apparently stronger than he had anticipated.

“Kinkade,” Lance whispered, more fervent than he had been trying for. They were now a bit closer to the rest of the guests, but the buzz of their words felt so far away. “Don’t let me have any more of this lileberry drink.”

“Are you not able to control yourself?” Kinkade questioned with as much lightheartedness that someone like him could manage.

“To be frank, you’d understand my plight if you had had some of it yourself.”

“If you say so.”

“In fact, maybe you _should_  have a drink or two. It would certainly help you ease up for once.”

Kinkade didn’t even shake his head. “No thank you, my Prince. I must remain vigilant to better protect the Altean Royal Family.”

Lance glanced over at him with a frown. “I genuinely cannot wait for the day when you can do as you wish.”

“As do I, Your Majesty. It can be exhausting sometimes, having to look after you like this.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “On second thought, perhaps you should stay under my employ for awhile longer. There are certainly few other young nobles who would accept such harsh words being directed at them like this.”

“I only speak the truth,” Kinkade said, and Lance swore there was even a smile somewhere in there.

“Yes, well, mayhaps you could learn to lie a little, too,” Lance said even though he couldn’t imagine speaking to Kinkade any other way.

And, even if Kinkade didn’t quite sympathize with Lance, Princess Nyma appeared to understand it a bit. She whirled over to them with a flourish of her long blonde hair, done up in braids intertwined with gold strands, leaving her previous dance partner behind so she could pick up Lance instead.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said without preamble. Lance stepped up in time with her quickly as the music picked up, and she welcomed to faster pace with ease. “You’re looking lively, even if you are also a bit flushed.”

“You’re also a bit redder than usual today. Though, of course it doesn’t make you look any less lovely,” Lance replied.

Nyma smiled big and wide, and her purple eyes glimmered playfully. “Are we about to discuss a courtship agreement here? You know I don’t care at all about alphas or betas, but I need more than few paltry compliments for my interest to be piqued.”

“No, no, no courtship conversations for us just yet. We’ll think about that when we’re thirty and still unwed,” Lance teased in return. “I’m just in the mood to compliment a friend of mine, is all.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I will also say that you look quite nice today. That jacket in particular frames you nicely, though it doesn’t resemble many other Altean wear,” Nyma hummed.

They twirled once more, spinning together to the left. It was only slightly disoriented from all the lileberry ale, but they both managed to keep themselves upright and away from running into others. Above them, the hall’s lights, warm and low compared to the ones Lance was familiar with in Altea, swayed invitingly, but Lance couldn’t shake the distinct unfamiliarity of everything around him.

Now would’ve been a perfect opportunity to search out another dance partner, if they were so inclined, but Lance quite enjoyed Nyma’s company.

And Prince Keith still was nowhere to be found.

“It was a gift,” Lance answered when their spin came to a halt. They stepped together again before he quickly dipped Nyma down in time with the music. “To help keep away the cold.”

“A very fine gift indeed, then, considering how cold it gets in Marmora during this time of the year. If only someone were impressed enough by my dancing to gift me such a well-crafted coat.”

“I’m sure you could convince others to do many things if you just fluttered your long eyelashes at them a few times,” Lance said. “A coat is nothing for your charms, really.”

“Too bad Prince Keith hadn’t been moved at all by my flutterings at your last Winter Solstice.” Nyma flicked her head to the side dramatically, an exaggerated frown painted across her pretty face. “He didn’t even want to give me one dance back then, in fact. It was a little discouraging, to be honest.”

Lance scoffed and felt Nyma give him a playful little jab in his side. “I’m sure you were fine when all the other young nobles flocked to dance with you. I have to say, you never fail to stand out in a crowd with how stunning you are. It must be akin to a curse.”

Nyma rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Lance returned the gesture easily before giving the room a quick once-over, and then turned his attention back to Nyma. “Speaking of Prince Keith, have you seen him at all this evening?”

She tilted her head to the side, and her jewels moved with her, striking against each other lightly like the next beat to the music. “No, I haven’t. If you haven’t seen him yet, I’m sure that none of us here have. You are the one with his jacket draped over your shoulders, after all. I suspect he’d come running to you as soon as the opportunity presented itself.”

The lileberry ale was making Lance’s face hot, but the coat was simply too comfortable to take off.

“You never know,” Lance muttered. “A lot can change in a year.”

“That’s true. You seem to have gotten taller, for one.”

Lance didn’t turn immediately. He instead stared down at Nyma’s amused face while he lamented over the fact that this new spell dulled his sense of smell because, otherwise, he would’ve realized much sooner that Keith was behind him.

Lance gave Nyma one last look, displeased and a touch needy, but Nyma simply shrugged before pulling her hands away from Lance’s shoulders.

“He’s all yours, Prince Keith. I apologize for monopolizing so much of his time” Nyma said.

“No, it’s quite alright. I understand how rare it can be to see someone again when all you have are events like these,” Keith said. His voice sounded lower now, but it hadn’t lost that hint of gravel that Lance now attributed to Keith.

Nyma bowed once, bent at the knees and curled at the ankles. Keith returned it readily, and then she was spinning away as quickly as he had come to invite Allura into a dance instead.

Lance, too, spun, but it was much slower coming from him. He could still feel the lileberry drink working its way through his system, but he was sure that the way Keith looked right then, framed by the chandelier lights and hair even longer than before curled around his long neck, had nothing to do with it.

Apparently, Lance was not the only one who had grown taller. Before, Lance’s gaze skimmed across the top of Keith’s head, and he had taken a sip of petty delight in that.

Now, however, Keith stood a few inches taller than Lance. His frame had even bulked up a bit, too, and Lance went through great pains to avoid becoming too self-conscious from that; as an omega, it would be difficult for him to ever become as broad or study as someone like Kinkade who was already built like a turret at eighteen, but did Lance try nonetheless.

Clearly, it wasn’t working as well as Keith’s approach.

“What?” Keith asked, interrupting Lance’s thoughts with a sly smile. “Do I have something strange on my face?”

Lance shook his head as he held back the awkward cough bubbling in the back of his throat. “No, you look fine. I was just… a bit surprised with how different you look. You’ve grown even taller than I have, it seems.”

“My growth spurt arrived late, I suppose.”

Lance hummed out a small sound of recognition before gazing at Keith once more. Back on Altea, he had also been dressed in darker clothes, but they had been cut somewhat similarly to typical Altean wear; long strokes of cloth with loose hanging pieces that were also fitted at the waist and other often highlighted areas, such as the shoulders and thighs.

On the other hand, the outfit Keith wore now was much more fitted all-over, which brought even more attention to the burgeoning muscles of his chest and shoulders. It was also not as adorned as many of the other dresses and suits around them were, but the brilliant purple threads that ran through the predominantly black cloth were breathtaking.

Suddenly, Lance felt severely underdressed.

Keith didn’t seem to think so, though.

“I see you’ve kept my coat,” Keith noted. “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you. It was very helpful on the trip here.”

Keith tilted his head to the side, and Lance followed the flex of his neck as if compelled to do so. “I’m glad.”

Many of other guests were still watching them, waiting to see what they would do and what it would mean to them. Allura, on the other hand, was too busy speaking to Nyma and Rolo, and Romelle and Kinkade were enjoying a short dance together. His father was now finally speaking to Kolivan, and Coran was there too.

Everyone else from Altea was busy, enjoying the gala, and Lance figured it was time for him to do the same.

He took a short step back from Keith and was able to catch a brief glimpse of Keith’s handsome face furrowing into a look of confusion before Lance bent at the waist, head downcast but hand outstretched and wanting.

“Prince Keith, would you care for a dance with me?”

The whole gesture was a bit overly formal for the situation, but Lance wanted the whispers to turn into something more pleasant for once.

He hoped this helped.

While he waited for Keith’s response, Lance disallowed himself from lifting his gaze up to watch for Keith’s expression. It was uncouth to do so, but he still desperately wanted to. He had never been the most patient person, he knew.

Except, before his impatience could truly begin to shear away at his chest, Keith’s hand was in his. It also felt larger than before, hot and heavy with long fingers and calloused pads.

“I’d be honored to dance with you, Prince Lance.”

Finally, Lance bowed his head back up and was met with Keith, handsome once more, as he had always been, but the sight somehow still managed to impress him.

“Let us dance, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i'm about to make myself ship romelle and kinkade... rinkade lol??
> 
> anyway, please tell me what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or are interested in a writing commission, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
> i'm also possibly interested in taking some prompts on tumblr, if you guys are also interested in that!
> 
> EDIT: with all the news about tumblr, i decided to go ahead and make a twitter! check it out [here](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, against all reason and rationale, Keith was an even worse dancer now than before. He moved as if he didn’t understand how the body was designed, awkward and uncoordinated, and all Lance could do to compensate was try to follow along as best as he knew how.

Honestly, Lance felt a bit like a pampered dog being strung along by his uppity owner, but at least Keith was slightly better at following a beat than before. If nothing else, that did help him _appear_ more skilled than he truly was.

Then, Keith stumbled on the dip, and the both of them were uncomfortably close to seeing themselves sprawled across the floor. It would’ve been a shame, ruining such nicely-waxed floors with a cracked nose, but, thankfully, Keith had decent balance, and Lance was able to scramble for enough hold at the last second.

His nails were trimmed blunt because having potion ingredients trapped underneath them didn’t do him any good, but Lance could feel his nails catch sharply on Keith’s jacket through his grip. There was a give of flesh underneath the fabric, but, if Keith felt the dull scratch of Lance's nails, he made no indication of it.

“I’m sorry,” Keith breathed when they were just about steady. Lance still stood bent, suspended from nothing more than Keith’s arm burning hot. To say he felt dubious like this would be an understatement, but Lance quite enjoyed looking up at Keith as such, framed by loose hair and warm lights regardless. “I was too hasty with the turn.”

“Perhaps I should be the one to lead,” Lance suggested. Keith held him close yet, and Lance made no effort to pull away. Eyes were upon them, but none of that bled of any importance even though it really did because Keith was handsome, and the alcohol made Lance giddy as a child.

“Yes, I have a feeling that would be for he best,” Keith replied. Slowly, they lifted. Keith hauled Lance up with every gentle touch he could manage, and Lance went with him happily because he couldn’t imagine doing anything except follow the arc of Keith’s back.

The start of a new song lilted around them with ease, and people still watched on. Keith took a single step back, lax and patient, awaiting Lance’s next move. In turn, Lance shifted back onto his heels before extending his hands out to rest around Keith’s waist. Even here, Keith felt both slim and taut.

Then, the music picked up, and they met once more.

Despite the bulk Keith had acquired, he followed Lance’s lead with nary a qualm. Even now, his dancing skills left much to be desired in terms of actual finesse and grace, but he matched Lance’s steps well enough to avoid another near fiasco.

“Even after a year, you’re still as clumsy as ever when it comes to dancing, I see,” Lance mused. Despite their previous mishap, Lance still ventured an attempt to pull Keith in for a brief turn. Clumsily, of course, from the small catch of Keith’s well-polished shoes against Lance’s ankle, but a turn nonetheless.

“My apologies. I’d taken a few extra dance lessons, but I’ve forgotten all of it these past few months,” Keith replied. His foot caught again. Lance wavered with a tiny pitch to the right, but Keith’s hand on his shoulder kept him grounded.

Even through the furs of his - _Keith’s_  coat, Lance reminded himself - Lance could feel the flex of Keith’s hands and the way his long fingers curled over Lance’s shoulder and into the bone beneath.

The touch left behind more comfort than Lance expected.

Then, they were sliding to the right, and the clench lifted.

“Have these past few months been busy for you?” Lance asked.

Keith shrugged. “You could say that. I’ve been away from Marmora for some time.”

“Oh? Has Lord Kolivan finally sent you away to form more diplomatic tendencies?”

“Well, he has certainly tried,” Keith scoffed, but it seemed distracted. “I’m not the best at such veiled speech, though. I’m afraid I might have actually burned a few bridges while I was away, but we will just have to wait and see how that all ends.”

“You seem to be doing just fine with me,” Lance said. “Speech-wise, at least. If you’ve gone around dancing with other young nobles like this, that’s an entirely separate subject. Trodden-on toes do tend to lead to poor impressions, after all.”

Keith chuckled, and he rumbled. “No, I didn’t do much dancing, thankfully. The vast majority of it consisted of me buttering other officials up, but that’s much more difficult when I don’t particularly like them.” He paused on their aborted spin, which, miraculously, fared quite well. “I do like you, though.”

That, Lance thought, was unfair.

He already felt warm enough within Keith’s coat, but his face still burned high as Keith shuffled forward until they were near flush against each other. Now that Keith was taller, which further exacerbated the injustice of it all, Lance was left to gaze up at him like an awestruck child witnessing beauty for the first time.

Then, the dance was over.

Lance swallowed as they parted from each other at the end of the song, and he was grateful for the following bow, for it helped him regain a few of his sensibilities, as short as it may have been.

And yet, he missed the press of Keith against him.

Lance lifted his head, found Keith’s eyes soft upon him, and asked, “Would you like to step away from the chaos for a moment?”

He deliberately avoided any suggestion of going outside because it was far too cold for that, and not even the handsome, venerable Prince Keith was worth freezing. Back in the day, Thace might have been, but Lance was older and wiser now; not to mention, he was also a bit more in control over his affections.

At least, he liked to think so. Either way, the chance to turn away from the eyes and whispers around them beckoned sweetly, and Lance was more than happy to take it.

Lady Laod’ka, drunk and raucous now, was making even more of a scene than before. She waltzed beautifully, and Lance would be the last to say she looked anything less than breathtaking. At the same time, her omega handmaiden skittered behind her pathetically, kelpie tail barely within her grasp as her Lady twirled and flirted with the other guests.

All the while, Lord Ajaiw remained unbothered. In fact, he even chuckled a touch at the sight of his omega tripping over her own dress at a particularly harsh slap of kelpie tail, hidden behind his glass and impressive row of signet rings adorning his fingers.

There were no tears. She stood up slowly, resigned and expression empty, kelpie tail safe in her grasp. After such a night, the tail looked battered, even past the spells preserving it, and that only served the make the omega handmaiden appear further worn.

Everyone looked on with as much impassivity as they could manage. Lady Laod’ka smiled so prettily at the sight trailing obediently behind her, and Lance suddenly didn’t want to watch anymore.

Keith caught Lance’s eye as he turned away, lips drawn and the space between his eyes tight.

“Yes,” Keith breathed. He rested a hand lightly on Lance’s back, barely-there but sturdy through the coat. “Let's go somewhere more… relaxed.”

They moved smoothly, bowed at all the regaled guests who were to be bowed at, and Keith even swiped a few drinks before they left. The dark purple of the lileberry ale sloshed precariously with the tip, and a few drops landed on the small expanse of skin over Keith’s wrist - deep, staining, and wonderfully enticing.

Through the few spaces of a clear view, Kinkade studied them.

Lance nodded once, head tilted so the jeweled dragon blood clipped to his ear glinted in the reflection of Kinkade’s eye. In response, Kinkade nodded back, and Lance was off.

“Was that someone I should be aware of?” Keith asked, a single brow lifted and waiting. He didn’t touch Lance, hands occupied with the finest glasses, but he stood close regardless. “A secret lover of yours, perhaps?”

Lance rolled his eyes at the tease, but he smiled, too. “Kinkade is simply one of my personal guards. Though, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if we were secret lovers. He is quite the looker, after all.”

Keith shrugged before throwing his head over his shoulder. He gave Lance a side-long glance. “I can’t argue with you there, but it’s hard for me to pay much attention to him with you in front of me.”

Lance choked on the laugh that threatened to erupt at the same time as his embarrassment.

“And you said you weren’t skilled at gussying up other important figures,” Lance muttered through the burn in his throat. “I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that you might've be lying to me.”

“I’m not exactly that great at lying, either.”

“Another trick of the tongue, I think.”

“For you? Never.”

Keith grinned, and then he stopped in front of an ominous door.

“Not to insult, but I do hope that you haven’t just taken me to your personal quarters,” Lance said.

“Of course not. I, also, am not keen to insult,” Keith said. “This is just one of our preparation rooms, but it’s not one of the ones we typically use, so I assume we won’t be interrupted.”

“I hope it’s not a breach of trust for me to be here,” Lance said, even as Keith moved to push open the door.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Though, I don’t think it’d be too taxing for me to deal with you, if necessary,” Keith breezed, offhandedly yet so tight.

Lance pursed his lips and studied Keith’s expression slowly. Keith met him with a challenge dipped in honey. “That’s an interesting possibility you’ve come up with. Perhaps you’ve forgotten about my magic,” Lance said.

“True. Or, perhaps the lileberry ale will soften you too much for that,” Keith said, drink in hand, extended. The lowlights of the intricately plain lamps above them sharpened the edges of Keith’s face, but the highlights of the moon only made his smile softer.

Lance took the glass with a brush of his fingers over Keith’s, and his lips twitched of their own accord. “Perhaps it will for you, too.”

The drink tasted as good as it had before, and the slow fade of Lance’s inebriation quickly returned. He drank quickly, hopeful that doing so would help calm his nerves, all while Keith watched on curiously, still sipping at his own glass.

“I assume you must’ve seen many rooms such as this during your travels to gain favor with those officials,” Lance said, punctuated by the sharp clip of glass against the table. “They do enjoy introducing people to their most intimidating rooms first.”

“I didn’t make it quite that far with many of them,” Keith replied like a far-off whisper, and his eyes roamed from Lance’s forehead, over the wall, and then over Lance’s lips.

“Where did you speak with them, then?”

“Oh, many places, such as the training grounds, training halls, and stables. Occasionally, I even spoke with some high-ranking officials in the lavatory. They can be quite chatty while urinating, apparently.”

Lance narrowed his eyes, and Keith’s visage before him shimmered as Lance’s mind fumbled. “Was it really that bad?”

“I wouldn’t say I offended, but I don’t think I impressed, either.” Keith took another slow sip of his drink. “I guess they just preferred to evaluate me based on my physical skills as opposed to my diplomatic ones. They're what I'm most known for, I suppose.”

“I genuinely don’t believe that for a second,” Lance said, and surely his voice was devoid of the tremor of booze because he wasn’t _that_ susceptible to alcohol - probably. “Not when you’ve clearly been raised to be such a smooth talker. I may not be the Crown Child, but I’m not daft.”

Keith blinked, but he didn’t speak. As such, Lance had room to continue.

“And it’s not just your words, either. I have not forgotten about your coat, clearly, and, I must say, it was quite the gracious move you played when you first gave it to me,” Lance sniffed.

Once again, Keith blinked, drink nearly forgotten. This time, Lance waited for the stretch of the silence.

Slowly, Keith smiled. That same smile then transformed into a hearty smirk that was far more enticing than it had any right to be, quite frankly.

“Oh?” Keith hummed, setting down his glass. Lance found that to be quite a shame. It would’ve been nice to see Keith act looser, too. “I wasn’t aware that you’ve been so affected by me.”

“As if you don’t already know.”

“I truly don’t. I’m unused to being a topic of consideration like this.”

Lance turned his nose up to better look at Keith, as tall as he was now. “I wish someone would have warned me beforehand that young Blade princes were so well-versed in the art of wordsmithy. If they had, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so flustered right now.”

Keith’s lips flicked upwards at the corners, only to be hastily pushed back down at the sight of Lance growing even more ornery.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you seem quite weak to our lileberry ale,” Keith said. “Would you like more?”

“I’d rather you finish the rest of your drink. I’d like to see what you’re like after a glass.” Lance responded.

“Let’s see, then.”

Keith tips the rest of his drink into his mouth in a single fell swoop, and Lance can’t do anything except watch. He witnessed the long line of Keith’s neck, the bob of his throat, and the sharp line of his chin with vigor until Keith was done.

Truly, much could change within a year.

“So, shall we wait for the drink to hit me before we continue?” Keith asked playfully, head cocked to the side and neck still long.

Lance opened his mouth before pausing. The answer was something along the lines of ‘yes’; at least, that’s what Lance had planned on saying.

Except, instead of saying anything to that effect, Lance moved in close, crowding Keith against the large, dark-stained table that was presumably used for official negotiations, discussions, and the like, before drawing himself even closer.

And he felt so terribly hot underneath the coat.

Even as comfortable as he was in the furs, Lance slowly peeled it off before resting it down against the table. All the while, Keith watched on, silent.

“Are you feeling ok?” Keith asked quietly once Lance was devoid of his coat. “Should we head back? Get you some water?”

Lance’s nose scrunched. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. I promise. I’m just trying to make sure you’re well.”

Lance leaned in and felt Keith’s breath hot on his face. He could hear Keith’s swallow.

“It wouldn’t do me any good to harm the Crown Prince of Altea, you know,” Keith continued, breathless.

Lance liked the way Keith sounded like that.

“Are you planning on hurting me?” Lance teased. His tongue felt loose, and his words were probably not as formal as they should’ve been, but it was hard to focus on that when Keith stood in front of him, so handsome and rising with a flush.

“Never,” Keith breathed, and that was almost _too_ sweet. “Not on purpose, at least.”

Lance cocked his head to the side until his lips were in line with Keith’s. “Then what’re you worried about?”

“I don’t know.” Keith stuttered, but he, too, leaned in further. “I’m not sure. I just… don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t. So, it’s fine, isn’t it?”

In all honesty, Keith was acting as the rational one here, and Lance was playing the absolute fool, not considering the potential consequences of being alone with a foreign dignitary like this.

But Lance didn’t care about any of that. He couldn’t when Keith was so beautiful before him.

In the end, Keith was the one to bridge the gap between them, but Lance eagerly met his lips with his own. They were both just boys, after all. As close as they were to adulthood, their hormones still raged, and Lance grew weak in front of handsome men like Keith.

Keith tasted intensely sweet, tongue coated with lileberry ale that stuck fast within the crevices of his mouth. Lance was more than happy to soak it all in as he pressed forward again, pushing Keith even further against the table. In turn, Keith grunted out a soft noise of pain before pulling himself away from Lance to haul himself up onto the table.

Lance came next.

With a sturdy grip that both impressed and aroused Lance, Keith pulled Lance up into his lap, hands firm on Lance’s bottom to keep him steady.

Lance swallowed hard, and his sight swirled on anything that wasn’t Keith. He smiled as best as he could. Keith smiled back in turn.

“See?” Lance gusted with a shake of his breath. His hands also shook as they rested against Keith’s shoulders. “You haven’t hurt me at all.”

Keith’s grip loosened the slightest bit, but they didn’t move from where they were seated. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to harm you in the slightest.”

Lance tilted his head to the side again, forward and over until his nose met the dangling strands of Keith’s hair, until his lips brushed up against Keith’s prickled neck. Like this, Lance could feel Keith’s sharp inhale, along with the hurried clip of his pulse, and all that made Lance feel so, so good.

“Yes, you’ve been very nice and gentle. However, I wouldn’t mind if you were to be a little rougher,” Lance said, nose nuzzling into Keith’s hair. It was soft.

From his lips, Lance felt Keith’s pulse jump into a sprint. It felt strong and full-bodied, like a well-aged wine imbued with fresh moonkisses, and Lance wanted to drink it all up. He couldn’t, though, so he settled for licking at the spot to feel it even deeper.

Keith’s next words sounded like nothing more than a whisper in the tide. “Those are dangerous words you’re giving me.”

Lance pulled away so he could bat his eyelashes at Keith. “I thought you would never hurt me?”

“I wouldn’t,” Keith choked out, hands against Lance’s rear curling.

“Then there’s no cause for concern, yes?”

Keith blinked. Then, he inhaled deep, and his hands moved, and Lance was sure that he had actually ruined the moment. He was sure Keith would now push Lance off his lap, carefully but quick, before striding off back to the ballroom to find someone else to entertain him, leaving Lance to sulk with a disapproving Kinkade and a Romelle desperate to raise his spirits.

He was wrong.

Instead of pushing Lance away, Keith’s hands pulled him in even closer with a palmful of soft flesh, and Lance scrambled to clasp his arms around Keith’s neck for purchase.

Then, Keith was kissing him again. This time, it wasn’t as sweet-smooth as before. Now, Keith was everywhere, surging forward as he held Lance still with a hearty grasp, keeping him close and very satisfied.

By their own will and want, Lance’s hands shot up to Keith’s hair, burying themselves in deep. They tugged, and Keith acquiesced easily, letting Lance pull him around as he pleased with nothing more than a pleased moan and a roam of his hands.

Slowly - tortuously slow - Keith slid his arms up from Lance’s rear up to better explore the folds of Lance’s muscles from above his silken garbs. To compensate for the lack of support, Lance had to shimmy forward to keep from slipping right off of Keith’s lap, and, by doing so, he was met with even more heat and what felt like the press Keith’s clothed dick against his own.

And, stars above, Lance was just a young man, so susceptible to pleasure and other, beautiful young men.

He moaned into Keith’s mouth before Keith pulled away, lips glossy and hair a mess.

“Good?” Keith asked, all breath. “You’re still alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Lance answered impatiently, unamused by the lack of a hot mouth against his own. “I’m doing just fine, and I suspect I’d be better if you were still kissing me.”

Keith’s subsequent laugh came out with a snort. “And here I was, trying to be a gentleman for this foreign prince I’m kissing, just as I’ve always been taught.”

“It’s a bit too late to be thinking about such things when you’re hard against me, is it not?” Lance asked.

“It’s never too late to be kind.”

“Well, I would argue that kindness right now consists of you kissing me again.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

Except, Keith did not kiss Lance again. At least, not on the lips. No, his mouth now descended upon the crook of Lance’s neck to nibble gently at the skin, then not-so-gently as he moved up the column of Lance’s neck.

And Lance was plenty pleased with this turn of events.

He moaned, pulsed his hips down against Keith, and felt Keith’s own moan tumble through him, thunderous and warm. Lance reveled in it all, enjoyed every swipe of Keith’s tongue, each prod of his fingers over and around whatever they could reach, and Lance wanted more from his own touches.

Of course, that meant that Lance would not be getting much more than this. Suddenly, his ear felt warmed. Initially, Lance assumed that was simply a result of Keith’s breath against his lobe, so warm and so close. Then, it burned hotter, and Lance felt the dragon’s blood burn.

Hesitantly and horribly slow, Lance pulled away. Keith looked at him curiously through blurred eyes, pupils wide and searching, and Lance smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” Lance whispered. “I have to go.”

Lance offered no explanation, and Keith asked for none. All Keith did was nod before letting Lance slide off of him so they could both make themselves relatively acceptable for their return to the gala.

Lance smoothed his clothes down meticulously while Keith set to work smoothing down his perpetually-unruly hair.

“Do I look presentable?” Lance asked after a few moments.

Keith studied him with a languid rake of his eyes, thick and syruped. “You look amazing.”

Lance couldn’t even try to stop his flush. His body still felt warm, set ablaze with desire and arousal, so Lance couldn’t even imagine donning the coat again when Keith handed it to him.

“Oh, I didn’t even think to ask,” Lance said suddenly. “Would you like your coat back?”

Keith shook his head. “No. No, I would much prefer that you keep it, if it pleases you.”

“It does,” Lance whispered, receiving the coat with a smile. “It greatly pleases me.”

“Good.”

They left the room together, but they didn’t touch anymore as they walked. They rounded the corner back from whence they came, but Keith stopped to turn in a separate direction from the ballroom. Lance tilted his head in question, waiting.

“My apologies, I must go to attend to other matters, but I hope you enjoy the rest of the night without me,” Keith explained. He extended a shy hand, and Lance stepped forward until their fingertips brushed. “And I hope to see you again during the rest of the festivities so we can talk some more. I truly did intend to only speak with you, you know.”

Lance grinned. Keith was being sweet again, and it wasn’t unwelcome. “I know, so don’t concern yourself with that. I was the one who propositioned you, anyway.”

“I would argue that it was a mutual decision.”

“Even less cause for concern, then.”

Keith hummed out a small noise of agreement before bowing to signal his leave. Lance bowed in return, and then left to return to the gala with Keith’s watchful gaze upon him until he was gone.

And then, on his return, Kinkade’s eyes were upon him instead.

And Kinkade was upon him in no time at all, as intimidating and judgmental as ever.

“Why did you call me back?” Lance asked.

“I grew concerned,” Kinkade replied blandly, freeing Lance of the coat in his arms, “as I often do when it comes to you.”

Lance rolled his eyes as subtly as possible. “Yes, well, I am fine, thank you.”

Kinkade scoffed, but the brush of his arm against Lance’s was kind and familiar. “I hope you enjoyed yourself for as long as it lasted. That mark on your neck looks promising, at least.”

Lance’s hand flew to the base of his neck while Kinkade stood and smirked at him.

“Is it that obvious?” Lance asked.

“Somewhat, but, if you just flatten your collar up a touch more, I think it should be fine.”

Lance smoothed his collar out and waited for Kinkade’s nod of approval. When he got it, he sighed before floating right back to the drinks spread.

“Please don’t, my prince, you said to disallow you from drinking more,” Kinkade sighed.

“But how else will I survive the rest of this night?”

“How about a dance with me? I may not be that dashing Prince Keith, but at least I know how to dance.”

Lance turned, throwing his hand over his chest dramatically. “My, Kinkade! Have you perhaps been enamored with me this whole time? How typical of you, as my trusted guard and confidant!”

“You wish."

“Sometimes, I really do,” Lance teased. “Nonetheless, yes, let’s dance.”

True to his word, Kinkade was a much better dancer than Keith. There were no mishaps, no stepped toes, and there were even plenty of laughs shared before Lance switched to go ahead and dance with Romelle. With them, the rest of the night fared well, leaving Lance with few complaints.

Except, Lady Laod’ka yet danced, and he couldn’t quite purge the image of her pitiable omega attendant from his mind, even with the memory of Keith’s touch settling there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kiss!! how exciting haha
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)
> 
> also, I’m thinking about starting a ko-fi? I have no idea if any of you care or have any opinions on that, but, if you so, please let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

The pills were making him sick. Lance was sure of that. He felt wrung each time he took them, so much so he could hardly breath past the crushing ache in his chest they left behind. His blood ran desperate and hot, as if trying to escape the hell the pills often turned his body into.

And did it try.

The first time Lance bled from his suppressants was through a small, innocuous nosebleed. Hardly anything to be concerned about, in the grand scheme of things. Just a simple piece of an unfortunate pie filled until heaping with sick coincidences because coincidences could be easily forgotten, and Lance strived to be forgettable.

So, the red running down his face in suspicious clots didn't mean anything, he told himself. It didn't have to be anything more than a strange, singular incident waiting to be set aside with that day’s sun.

It would be fine. Lance would be fine. So long as he played his part, Altea would continue to grow in prosperity, and his mother’s death upon giving birth to him, a mere omega, would be forgiven.

But he only bled more after that.

Today, the blood ran thick and unrelenting from his nose, and Lance felt lightheaded. Above him, Romelle hovered, flustered, and Lance wished she would settle down a bit because her unease only made the precarious tilt of the room even worse.

The horizon lay at a nauseating diagonal. Where Lance sat in comparison remained uncertain. He might as well have been floating, except the harsh press of the cold floor beneath his knees bit too hard to be anywhere except far too close.

He felt Romelle touch him. At least, he assumed the soft press of fingers belonged to Romelle. Kinkade, after all, usually approached Lance with his entire palm, and his father was off somewhere else, too busy acting as their glorious King to fret over Lance right now. Allura, too, attended to her duties with due diligence, Coran ever by her side.

“Lance,” Romelle whispered, and her voice wavered.

He turned to address her face-forward to avoid being rude, inhaling deeply to form the proper words. Except, nothing beyond a wet, harried cough came out as he snorted up dried, hot, and wet blood, and he choked. The blood slicked the back of his throat, metallic and filled with a strange, volatile mixture of magic, and, stars above, it _hurt_.

“Lance!”

Romelle sounded much closer now as she pressed her cool hands against his nape to tilt his head down. Her skin scraped against his, cracked and worn from all the ingredients she helped him procure and prepare, his floating thoughts reminded him. He followed the push easily, and all Lance saw before him were reds, browns, and everything in-between, and he sincerely hoped he didn’t stain the nice floors of the guest bedroom so graciously offered to him by the Blade because that surely counted as an insult.

Another hand fell upon him, spanning wide and warm against his back. Lance leaned into the touch without a single thought.

“Is he alright?”

Kinkade.

Romelle’s hand lifted, which Lance mourned for, but at least Kinkade’s presence endured.

“He’s having a poor reaction to the most recent suppressant we’ve created,” Romelle whispered. “We might have to think of something else, or, if necessary, forego the tournament.”

No. Lance wouldn’t be forgiven then.

“I’m fine,” Lance said past the blood lingering in the corners of his mouth, stuffed inside his cheek as if he were saving them for a famine. Though, he supposed the idea wasn’t so far-fetched; magical blood went far. Some peoples were known to store such blood. “Just give me some time to get past the initial adjustment, and I should be fine.”

He lifted himself up on shaky legs to prove it to them, fitted with his best, weak smile. Romelle watched on unconvinced, expression steeped in concern. She was fast approaching her saturation point, he could see, and Lance hated that because he hated seeing her cry.

Kinkade, on the other hand, studied him with pinched brows and a distinct downturn of his lips that Lance also hated to see. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea. I’m tempted to believe you’ll cause less of an uproar not attending than if you did, only to spew up blackened blood all over the arena.”

“I agree!” Romelle added, nodding with vigor. Her blonde hair, done up in gorgeous braids, bobbed with her, and Lance had to look away or risk vomiting in his own mouth. “Imagine the uproar it would cause if the other guests were to assume you were afflicted with a deadly illness!”

Lance shook his head. The rest of his body followed before he tamped down the tremors with a click of his teeth. “It’s fine. There won’t be any uproar because I’ll be fine within the next half hour. I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t look as if you could be well within another thirty hours,” Kinkade said.

“Stop hovering over me like that, and perhaps we’ll bear witness to a miracle,” Lance hissed.

Kinkade wrinkled his nose, clearly displeased, while Romelle’s lips thinned with annoyance. Nonetheless, she kept the tips of her fingers brushed up against the back of his neck, siphoning her magic into him slowly to help soothe his pain. For that - and everything else, really - Lance was grateful.

Furthermore, the slow roll of the next spurt of blood felt promising. The bleeding was already slowing down, then. Maybe everything really would be fine within the next half an hour.

Time passed, Romelle fretted, and Kinkade glared up at the clock as if willing time to speed up. Lance, on the other hand, wanted nothing more for it to slow down and give him a better chance at keeping his word. Either way, the bleeding ceased in the span of twenty minutes, and, after twenty-eight, Lance could almost breathe easy.

“See?” Lance tutted before blowing his nose. His folded up the tissue before he could give himself the chance to look at it, but he felt the bloodstain regardless - hot, thick, a reminder Lance didn’t need because how could he ever possibly forget? “I told you my body would adjust soon enough. The two of you worked yourselves into a frenzy for no reason.”

“It’s our duty to be concerned for you when you start oozing blood like that,” Kinkade argued.

“Yes, but now here I am, perfectly well and able to attend the tournament this afternoon. So, please, will you two stop looking at me like that?”

Romelle’s fingers tensed. “Lance, we’re just worried about you.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, but sometimes I can’t always bear it.”

Romelle said no more. In her silence, Kinkade sighed.

“But you must because we’ll never stop worrying about you. If we did, you’d certainly get yourself into trouble,” Kinkade said, voice light and smile dashing despite the crease that persisted by his eyes.

Lance just smiled back, wide and truer this time.

“Still, I don’t think it’s wise for you to actually participate in the tournament in your current condition,” Romelle said, finally lifting her hand away. “We can just have Allura represent Altea, or even Kinkade, if they really want someone more adept with sword fighting.”

“No. It’s always Allura representing Altea.” Lance said,

“Well, she is the current successor. It befits her to do so, I think,” Romelle said.

“And yet, I also hold the title of Royal Child, so it only befits me to share the burden as best as I can,” Lance countered, and he would not be swayed. And he knew Kinkade and Romelle knew as much based on the air of resignation that swept over him. It was a bittersweet feeling, but Lance reveled in it regardless.

“Alright. Let’s get you ready, then,” Kinkade said.

“And I’ll go and fetch you one of your calming tinctures,” Romelle offered. “I’ll make sure it’s one that won’t interfere with your suppressants.”

She left soon after that, heels clipping quickly as she hurried to her own guest quarters. That left just Kinkade and Lance together, and, occasionally, Kinkade was not one to hold his tongue.

Except, now he did little more than sigh as he headed towards Lance’s closet. “You know, I’m your personal guard, not your personal attendant. My duties don’t include helping you get fitted inside your formal battle wear.”

“Oh, I know, but isn’t it a treat to be able to see me get undressed for you?” Lance teased.

“With your scrawny body? Needless to say, I’m unimpressed.”

Lance laughed and hardly even flinched at the feeling of Kinkade’s hands falling upon his bare skin. He felt raw, rubbed clean to the bone, but Kinkade worked as gently as he knew how to be. Not to mention, while the silks and satins of his formal battle wear weren’t necessarily the most practical, they at least felt nice. They also contrasted nicely against his tanned skin, but that was neither here nor there.

They had even brought his Ceremonial Circlet with them during their journey to Marmora for something like this. The gold weighed heavy in his hands, shined to perfection. In it, Lance saw the weary crinkle around his eyes through his wavering reflection.

He quickly placed it over his head to be rid of the pitiful person looking back at him.

A knock. Kinkade moved to open the door, and Romelle was there once more with an almost insulting number of tinctures in her arms.

“You’re absolutely positive you want to do this? I don’t think it’s too late to back out now,” Romelle asked as she handed one over.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Lance pinched his nose before tipping his head back. Romelle’s potions always worked like a charm, but that never stopped them from being near unbearable to drink.

“Let’s go, then. It’ll make Altea look even better if we’re present for the entire ceremony,” Kinkade said. He picked up Lance’s broadsword from its place on the wall, gripping it carefully before presenting it with a slight bow of his head.

Lance accepted it with only the slightest hint of trepidation. While he did fare better in a sword fight than Allura, he still wasn’t nearly as skilled as someone like Kinkade or his father. His personal broadsword, crafted from lightweight mythril and alloys to compensate for his, quite frankly, slimmer frame helped a bit. Regardless, no one scrambled to consider him much of a sword fighter. Still, he could put up a fight if need be.

Finally, they left, and Lance walked with them happily, thankful for their presence. Never before had Lance participated in or even attended an indoor tournament, but, considering the snowstorm raging on outside, he couldn’t say he minded.

His father sat amongst the other nobles, up at the very top somewhere to the left of Lord Kolivan. Allura, too, sat further down in the same section - next to Lady Laod’ka, Lance noticed, but at least her kelpie was gone. Either way, Allura looked more than happy to distract herself from Lady Laod’ka to give Lance a small, but hearty wave.

“I suspect Princess Allura would’ve actually been grateful if you had opted out of it let her get away from Lady Laod’ka,” Kinkade whispered.

“Yes, well, we can’t always get what we want,” Lance said.

“Except for you, stubborn as you are.”

“Oh, if only.”

Case in point, Lance had to leave Kinkade and Romelle behind as he continued to walk through the makeshift stadium to where the competitors were being housed. Compared to the other representatives there, Lance was slight, scrawny, skinny, any other word of that nature, and horribly outclassed.

That was fine. He only had to participate. Victory could be someone else’s gain.

A particular contestant caught his eye for some time; a stoic, built woman stood enviably tall, sharpening her ridged blade that Lance hoped he wouldn’t have to face in combat, friendly or not.

And Lance was so preoccupied with watching her he failed to notice another tall, built figure right in front of him.

Lance hit something solid on his next step forward, stumbled back from how immovable it felt, only to be kept upright by a hard hand that felt nothing like any flesh he had ever encountered.

“My apologies, are you alright?”

Lance looked up and saw a suspiciously human-looking man speaking to him. He looked down at Lance with a small smile, eyes kind despite the long, deep scar spanning his face over his nose.

His arm, the one he now drew away upon seeing that Lance could stand on his own, was made of metal.

“I’m perfectly well,” Lance responded. “In fact, I should be the one to apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man shrugged, and the white stream of hair in his bangs fluttered. “Regardless, it wouldn’t do me any good to accidentally hurt the Prince of Altea.”

“So, you know who I am, then?” Lance asked.

“Of course. I know all our guests.”

“Well, I have to say, I think it’s a shame that you know me, even though I’m not familiar with you.”

The man chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. Very well, my name is Shiro. I’m here on behalf of the Blade of Marmora.”

Lance blinked. “Not Prince Keith?”

“No, not today. He’s just going to be spectating.”

Lance nodded. Shiro then bid his farewell, and the trumpets blared. Lance held his sword close and expected little.

In the end, he performed rather decently. His first two opponents were largely unthreatened by him, so Lance took advantage of that to get in a few quick slashes in. Not the best show of sportsmanship, arguably, but it was a good display of some craftsmanship, perhaps.

Above him, Allura watched on with rapt focus, eyes following each step the participants made, while his father gazed down at him with a serene smile and not a single hint of presumption. For that, Lance felt both grateful and wanting.

And then there was Keith.

He sat beside Lord Kolivan, making a great show of appreciating the spectacle without delighting in the actual fights themselves, dressed in his dark garbs once more. This time, they were fitted and plated - meticulously armored, even though he wasn’t in the tournament itself.

A prudent decision, Lance thought, and one that made Keith look unfairly attractive.

Lance looked on, eyes glued to the grooves of Keith’s top because his shoulders looked so much broader from down here, and Lance was mighty distracted by the long lines of his neck. So distracted that he didn’t even realize he was being called to fight in the next round until Shiro approached him with a clap of his hand on his own, less impressive shoulder.

“It’s our turn now,” Shiro said. He towered over Lance by a generous head, but his demeanor screamed casual.

Lance blinked rapidly until the image of Keith’s big shoulders and tapered waist faded from the back of his eyes. “Don’t go easy on my just because I’m the Prince of Altea.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By all accounts, Shiro wasn’t lying. He came at Lance with everything he had, making it clear from his first lunge that Lance stood little chance in comparison; Shiro moved quickly, dodged attacks with an even more impressive speed and devastating strength, and even had time to toy with Lance; if Lance weren’t so impressed, he would’ve erred on the side of offended.

“I see why they chose you over Prince Keith,” Lance said. His steps fell clumsily, but he supposed that mattered little when he already all but lost.

“My Prince is no less impressive, though,” Shiro replied. “I simply have more experience.”

“That’s some excellent lip service there.”

“Thank you. I try.”

After that, Shiro held little interest in humoring Lance any further. He leapt forward, and Lance knew he could do little against his onslaught. He anticipated little more than the kiss of the dull side of a blade against his shoulder, and then Lance could go ahead and watch the rest of the tournament play out before him if Keith’s handsome visage didn’t captivate him once more.

Except, Lance found himself instead caught by a flash of purple, so bright he could hardly stand it. His throat clenched at the sight drawing ever closer, and, inexplicably, it terrified him - deeply, terribly, and beyond comprehension.

His magic flowed out of him unbidden and wild. Or, perhaps, it came just as he wished, somewhere beyond his volition, deep within himself. Nevertheless, Lance only realized what he had done once the ice had already started to creep up Shiro’s prosthetic at an alarming speed, dead set on reaching flesh and true nerves that could _feel_ it.

Shiro screamed against the cold, and the audience gasped, whispers turned to shocked exclamations. Within moments, Lance ceased the oncoming chill, but the damage had already been done.

He rushed over to Shiro’s side. Shiro, amazingly, didn’t turn him away.

“I’m sorry,” Lance breathed. Something rose up the back of his throat. Whether it was blood or bile, he wasn’t sure, but he swallowed it down and weathered the burn without a single flinch. “Please, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Your Highness,” Shiro grit out, his smile tight. “Truly, it’s fine.”

Healers rushed onto the field. Lance stepped back upon their approach, but not before offering one last, hushed, “I’m sorry.”

He would not be forgiven like this - not if he ruined Altea’s relations with the Blade so thoroughly like this.

He should've listened to Kinkade and Romelle.

The first person to approach afterwards him was Allura. She touched him with a whisper of her fingers, but Lance appreciated it regardless because she always felt good; she always knew how to make Lance feel better.

The person to speak to Lance was Coran.

“Everything is fine, my Prince,” he said, as congenial and optimistic as always. “I promise. King Alfor has already spoken to Lord Kolivan about the incident, and it has already been deemed an accident. Their fighter is fine, too, so no harm, no foul, right?”

“Right,” Lance repeated. He still felt wretched, however, and that flash of purple refused to leave him.

Then, that night, he received one more visitor, and, to be honest, Lance didn’t expect him.

“Keith,” Lance breathed. Even in more casual clothing, Keith looked stunning. In comparison, Lance must’ve appeared drab, but he still spotted a slow, appreciative rove of Keith’s gaze despite that.

“My apologies for dropping by unannounced. I just wanted to check and see how you were doing,” Keith greeted.

“Me?” Lance asked. “I’m fine. I’m more concerned about Shiro.”

“He’s perfectly well. He’s sturdier than he looks,” Keith said.

“He looks plenty sturdy already.”

“So it should come as no surprise that he’s fine.”

“Are you familiar with him?” Lance asked.

“Oh, yes. Shiro is to me what Kinkade is to you, I’d imagine. A personal guard, of sorts.”

“Then, please accept my sincerest apologies for attacking your guard like that,” Lance said with a deep bow.

“Enough of that. I won’t have you apologizing for something that requires none.”

From somewhere behind Lance, Kinkade scoffed.

Lance fought against his urge to turn and glare at him. Instead, he asked, “Would you like to come in?”

Keith gaze Kinkade a glance that wasn’t exactly subtle. In turn, Kinkade rose.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Kinkade said with a nod.

Lance nodded in return. Then, he was alone with Keith in his quarters. A dangerous situation, potentially. Dangerous, yet Lance couldn’t refuse it. He awkwardly gestured for Keith to sit at the table provided to him, moving to sit across from Keith once he was seated.

“I’ve been dying to tell you this, but your magic really is impressive,” Keith said. “I haven’t seen Shiro react that intensely to an attack for some time now.”

“You can’t tell me that after I’ve worried myself sick over him for the past four hours,” Lance grumbled.

“My apologies. Please, don’t worry about it anymore. Even Shiro’s impressed.”

“I really don’t see how you expect that to make me feel any better.”

Keith let out a small chuckle. “You’re right. Let’s not talk about him anymore. I just wanted to come see you and compliment you, but it seems I’ve made you uncomfortable instead.”

“Compared to last night, we’ve experience quite a reversal in our relationship, haven’t we?” Lance sighed.

“Well, I did intend to come here and shower you in compliments, but it appears you’re too preoccupied with another man to hear them.”

This time, it was Lance’s turn to laugh. “Oh? And exactly what compliments did you come armed with?”

“I was prepared to applaud not only your magical prowess, but also how stunning you looked in your battle wear. I know those Altean silks of yours aren’t exactly practical, but they do look wonderful on your figure. Your legs, especially, were a treat to watch in those fitted pants,” Keith said, a touch stilted, but sincere all the way.

And it was that same awkwardness that had Lance’s heart soaring. “You, too, looked nice in that fitted armor. It was a shame I couldn’t see it in action today.”

“Maybe another day, if we ever face up against each other,” Keith said.

“Do you think you’d do much better against my magic?” Lance asked, not without some bite.

“I wouldn’t mind the chance to find out.” Keith scooted closer, hand brushing up against Lance’s thigh, and his pretty gray eyes swam. “For now, though, I’d rather appreciate you as you are.”

If Lance weren’t so taken by Keith, the sudden shift of the atmosphere would’ve given him whiplash. In reality, Lance cared about little more than the feeling of Keith’s broad shoulders and warm lips against his own.

The frantic nature of the other night escaped them tonight. Now, even with Kinkade waiting vigilant outside the door, Lance felt a slow, languid calm move over him at the same time as the brush of Keith’s tongue down his neck.

And, now that they had more leisure to bask in, Keith proved himself to be quite thorough in his ministrations; he ran several kisses up and down the length of Lance’s neck for what felt like the shortest eternity before moving to the other side.

However, the other side was where Lance’s scent gland lay.

Lance startled away so fierce the table shook, and he could hear Kinkade getting ready to re-enter and raise hell.

“It’s fine!” Lance said, loudly so Kinkade would also hear it. “It’s fine. I’m just a bit… ticklish.”

Keith blinked up at him with a slight frown. “I see. Should I keep to the other side, then?”

“Yes. Or… you could go a bit lower,” Lance breathed.

Keith smiled and moved continued hesitation. He dipped down into the hollow between Lance’s collar bones, giving Lance the perfect opportunity to nibble away at the bottom of Keith’s earlobe. In return, Keith kissed, licked, and even scraped his teeth down Lance’s skin with care, and Lance loved every minute of it.

Really, Lance could’ve stayed like that for the rest of everything.

At the same time, Lance wanted to return to the favor.

With a small, wanton noise, Lance gently pried Keith’s head away from the juncture of his neck. Keith followed him easily and gave no complaints when Lance went ahead and pushed Keith down to better kiss him with the hard planes of Keith’s body pressed up against him, warm and so lovely.

Keith met his every move with ease for quite some time. But, before Lance could move any lower, Keith pulled back with an apologetic frown.

“As much as I regret to say this, I’m afraid I must stop here,” Keith whispered. His breath rolled over Lance’s skin like smoke, and Lance’s toes curled deliciously as it dissipated.

“Is this revenge for my leaving you a few days ago?” Lance teased.

“Oh, no, I’m not nearly that smart,” Keith said lightly. “I simply have a few matters to attend to, but I wanted to see you first.”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it? Being the prince.”

“Isn’t it.”

Keith pulled himself away from Lance slowly, but not without giving Lance one more lingering kiss. As he left, he gave Kinkade a single, sharp nod, which Kinkade returned with no shortage of amusement.

“Look at you and your secret romance,” Kinkade said. “You’re lucky I’m too nice to stop it.”

“Please, you let it be because you’re amused by it,” Lance replied. He readjusted his collar again and hoped there weren’t too many more marks left behind.

“That too.”

And, if Romelle were here, Lance was sure she’d raise even more of a fuss. Though, he figured fusses like these weren’t all that terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this chapter isn't too boring! i wanted to start getting into more of the royalty stuff, though!
> 
> let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://fever-d-dreams.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Fevered__Dreams)


	6. Chapter 6

Lance had forgotten.

He was a horrible, ungrateful, and unrepentant little curr because he had forgotten. He forgot about his sweet, attentive nursemaid who showered him with attention and treats as a child, even though they were prohibited because he had once grown a bit too plump for Coran’s liking.

He forgot about the cool, gentle touch of her hand upon his forehead when he fell sick, soothing him until Allura came barreling in with their father in tow to spoon feed him his favorite soups while she laughed alongside Coran in the doorway.

He forgot all the words to the songs she used to sing him. He even forgot the exact red shades that made up her hair, and he forgot her favorite lipstick and rouge hues.

He forgot how Altea sent her away several years ago right after the Blade of Marmora’s victorious split from the Galra Empire. She left as a gift of goodwill because she was an omega, and they always made good gifts for a race whose omegas came rare and scarce.

People weren’t gifts. Just omegas.

They had celebrated her departure, he remembered. In hindsight, she surely met their raucous cheers as nothing more than a mockery of her sacrifice. But they had been excited, nonetheless, because the needed every ounce of influence they could muster by the chipped edges of their worn, tired teeth.

And gaining favor was exactly what omegas were for.

Lance had forgotten all about Miss Raniea until she summoned him to visit with her while he still stood on Marmora.

Then, he remembered everything. He remembered how pretty her laugh was, how much she enjoyed collecting insects, particularly the ones with the stingers and huge pincers, and how her hands shook as she spoke her farewells.

He remembered the tremor in her voice and the unshed tears in her eyes.

He wondered if she had ever cried properly over it. He wondered if anyone here cared.

He surely hoped so. He hoped that her mate - husband - cared for her, even if she had been a _gift_.

Lance’s mind recoiled at the thought, but he knew it to be true.

Romelle walked with him through the halls. Their footsteps fell harshly against the waxed floors, almost unbearably so amidst the quiet around them. Lance squirmed within himself, anxious to finally see her again, yet simultaneously so excited his body could hardly contain it.

He suspected Romelle felt the same. Miss Raniea had been her old magics tutor before being given away, after all.

He also recalled Romelle crying after Miss Raniea left with a smile set upon her haggard face, just for them.

Now, however, Romelle’s expression remained calm as she stepped in line with him. Every so often, Lance snuck glances her way to see if she were still up to the task of seeing Miss Ranie. Through it all, Romelle made no indication that she felt upset about any of this.

Lance wondered if he could say the same for himself.

In the end, none of that really mattered once they stood in front of Miss Raniea’s quarters, breaths drawn tight as they awaited entry. A faceless guard opened the door for them without a single care in the world, and Lance fought hard against his urge to close his eyes to protect his own sensibilities.

He needed to be good. He needed to see her.

She deserved.

Then, in the doorway, right before Lance’s tear-glazed eyes, there she stood, as beautiful as ever.

Romelle didn’t cry. She was always the better between the two, he supposed.

Lance, too, refused to cry. But he was close. Oh, was he close.

Miss Raniea moved without a sound, like always. “Oh, you sweet things, how I have missed you.”

She embraced him in her thin arms before pulling Romelle in tight. The familiar warmth she held and the way she smelled rushed towards Lance fierce and vengeful.

How he had ever forgotten this remained to be seen.

“Look at you two,” Miss Raniea whispered. Her voice ruffled Lance’s hair the same way her fingers used to when he was just a boy, and he basked in the familiarity of it against the pinpricks of guilt that refused to leave him. “You both have grown into such wonderful young adults. I’m sad to have missed it.”

“We are too,” Romelle breathed. Still, she didn’t cry, but the tremble in her voice was undeniable.

“But enough of the tearful reunions. Let us talk about all we can while we have the time,” Miss Raniea said, pulling away from them. Her red hair flitted in the corner of Lance’s eye like a faraway dream sweetened with spun candy kisses, and he followed it with rapt attention. Then, he found himself sitting across from her at the small table in her chambers.

And, as he sat, he spotted a pile of children’s toys laying in the corner of the room, new and used.

“Please, tell me about whatever you two like. I want to hear it all.”

Lance snapped his attention back towards Miss Raniea. The ease with which she poured them tea, far bluer in color than Lance was used to, was clearly practiced.

Except Lance couldn’t remember her pouring him much tea in the past. From what he remembered, she didn’t even particularly like tea.

Regardless, he accepted his cup without a word.

Romelle spoke first.

She spoke of all her training, her newfound talent for imbuing weapons with her magic with far more ease than Lance could. She mentioned her continued studies with medicinal potions, which Miss Raniea met with glee. Following that, Miss Raniea asked her about any potential suitors, and Romelle spoke about them all with a wry smile and amused shake of her head.

Because, honestly, Romelle had many suitors chasing after her pretty blonde braids, to no one’s surprise.

And, to no one’s surprise, Romelle quickly changed the subject over to Lance and his potential suitors. Though, quite frankly, that proved to be a rather boring subject.

“I refuse to believe that you don’t have a whole queue of people hoping to get in your good graces. More than being the Royal Prince, you have also grown into quite the sweet and stunning man, you know,” Miss Raniea teased. She stirred at her tea absentmindedly before drinking it down with a hearty gulp.

Lance shrugged before sipping at its own drink. It tasted sweeter than he expected, but then again, Miss Raniea always did prefer her coffee sweet.

He swallowed, and the drink went down bitter. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t noticed many people interested in me. I’m not much of a potential prospect compared to Allura, after all.”

“Nonsense. I think there’s something quite nice about marrying royalty, even without a throne to claim,” Miss Raniea said. “In fact, that might be even more of a draw, for some.”

“Yes, well, I can’t say that I’ve been particularly interested in courting or being courted. Those seem like the kind of indulgences best saved for another time,” Lance replied slowly.

Romelle, beside him, made no indication that she found anything interesting in Lance’s words even though she could probably hear his thoughts painfully clearly.

‘I can’t have suitors. There would be no point in it. I have to keep hiding the fact that I’m an omega until I either die or until Altea finally lets me go. I’m sorry. I understand now, how you felt back then. What we did to you. I am so sorry.’

Lance spoke none of it aloud. Even thinking about it hurt, but he flashed his biggest smile Miss Raniea’s way and hoped it was good enough to fool her.

It wasn’t.

She gave Lance that exact same look she used to give him whenever she caught him trying to lie and weasel his way out of something. In the past, she used to reprimand him with a lengthy lecture before sending him off without treats for the rest of the day. Today, however, she let the matter drop with a wistful smile.

“That’s fine. You’re still young, after all. This is a perfect time to go out and have fun.” She grinned, all teeth and crinkled eyes, and Lance felt calmed. “You don’t need anything that serious just yet. Serious is rarely all that fun at your age, anyway.”

“Good thing Lance has Prince Keith, then,” Romelle said lightly, cup raised to her face so all Lance could see upon indignantly turning her way were her eyes, pinched in amusement.

Miss Raniea ate her words up without a pause. “Oh? As in Prince Keith of the Blade?”

“Of course. Lance has been having plenty of fun with him these past few days,” Romelle continued.

“Is that so?” Miss Raniea turned to examine Lance, eyebrow raised.

“It’s nothing serious,” Lance whispered. His tea grew bitterer by the second. “Just a bit of fun, like you said. Furthermore, I’m a beta, so I doubt there’ll be much of a future between us. He’s set to inherit the Blade of Marmora, and alpha unions are always most fruitful in these situations.”

Lance knew that much, at least. He heard the whispers, loud as they rang.

People blamed his mother for all that had happened to Altea in recent years because she was a beta, and no good ever came out of betas on the Throne.

Omegas, on the other hand, were better of dead than on the Throne. The trouble plaguing Altea al started with an omega, after all. Only an alpha like Allura could end it.

His cup was empty. Lance stared down and saw no leaves he could gain any hopeful insight from. Only wet flecks of crushed herbs remained, and they told him nothing.

A hand fell upon his shoulder, light and so very warm. Miss Raniea smiled at him while Romelle looked on, expression almost impassive.

“That’s fine, too. Like I said, a bit of fun never hurt anyone. Besides, I can’t imagine that being the consort for the Lord of the Blade would be particularly enjoyable.” Her hand lifted, and her expression fell ever-so-slightly at the corners.

She looked so old like that. Even more so than Lance used to think she was as a child because, in reality, she had been yet young when they gave her away.

Twenty-two. She had been twenty-two.

“And, to be honest, I envy you two. I think being born a beta might actually be the greatest blessing of all. It seems like such a carefree life, sometimes.”

“Miss Raniea,” Lance breathed. The room wavered, and the toys in the corner suddenly looked painfully bright against the soft colors around them. “Are you happy?”

Romelle’s breath hitched, and a cup hit the table with a tumultuous clatter. Miss Raniea looked at him in silence before smiling, and she looked twenty-two all over again - hopeful, but so unsure.

“I’m happier than I thought I would be,” she confessed. “My husband is a good man. He bent over backwards for me during my pregnancy, and he looked so cute as he hovered over me in bed, all worried and frantic as he handed me all my favorite foods. My daughter, too, is so cute I can hardly stand it. She did get most of her charming looks and personality from me, after all.”

Her gaze flickered to the side, and Lance followed it until the toys fell into focus, sweet and innocuous now.

“But sometimes I wonder… if I would be even happier if I hadn’t been born an omega.”

Lance and Romelle didn’t respond. They simply placed kisses on cheeks before leaving with a wave and a hopeful promise to see her again before they left.

They said nothing as they left, but someone else did.

“Will you cry?”

**Will you cry.**

Words Lance had heard many a time before. Before, they hurt more. Now, they just mocked him.

He turned slowly to face his father who looked as regal and composed as ever - eyes firm, but not unkind.

Lance shook his head sharply. “No. I wouldn’t dream of crying so openly like that. Even I can keep up appearances when it matters.”

His father nodded. “I know. You’ve done well. You always have. I’m still not sure whether I’m more proud or sorry for that.”

Lance swallowed back something hot.

“What about you?” Lance whispered. “Will you cry when you finally meet her again?”

His father let out a tired laugh. “Yes, I suppose I will. Privately, of course, and we will just have to wait and see just how disgusted she is with my display. For now, wish me luck.”

With that, his father was off, disappearing into the room. Lance caught one last peek at Miss Raniea before the click of her door cast him away once again.

She looked welcoming by the sliver of her smile he could see, and Lance didn’t know how she managed it.

Because even now, on rare occasions, Lance still hated his father.

“Let’s go,” Romelle said quietly, urging Lance away with her thin, warm fingers. “Our time here is over.”

Lance nodded. He did have other responsibilities, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

As usual, Kinkade was great with a sword. Not as great as many other Altean warriors, but great nonetheless. At the very least, his skills far surpassed Lance’s.

Not to mention, compared to the Galra’s he was currently sparring against within the Blade’s outdoor practice hall, Kinkade was still not to be underestimated.

And, amongst all the soldiers practicing together, Kinkade stood as one of two people there not of Galran descent.  
The other one was Shiro. He waved at Lance congenially, beckoning for him to come over and join their cluttered but highly-organized fray or mock fights and wooden weapons galore.

“How are you doing, Your Highness?” Shiro asked, bowing his head. Even then, he stood unfairly tall compared to Lance. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I just came to check up on Kinkade. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t ruffling any feathers out here, but I see he’s doing quite well. I guess he doesn’t have the personality to ruffle any feathers.” Lance shifted his gaze from Kinkade to where Shiro stood. “Also, please, I beg you to not be so formal. It makes me nervous.”

“If you say so.”

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you,” Lance said. “How are you feeling? I hope I didn’t damage your arm at all.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. It was nothing a bit of rest couldn’t fix.”

To their left, Kinkade knocked the wooden sword out of the grip of a Blade soldier with a quick flick of his wrist. To Lance’s right lay another wooden sword - bulkier than he would’ve liked, but serviceable enough. Wood did have a tendency to be lighter than metal, after all.

“If that’s the case, would you mind if I joined in on your practice session here?” Lance asked. He tested the weight of the practice sword in both hands before nodding at the feel of it in his grip. “I promise not to bring any magic into a sword fight again. I’ve been training with my attendant quite a bit these past few days to avoid that.”

“I could never say no to a Prince such as yourself,” Shiro teased, picking up his own mock sword. It was thinner than Lance expected, but the blade ran long. Coupled with Shiro’s wingspan, it gave him a reach that Lance already knew would be troublesome. “Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t entirely mind seeing your magic in action again. There aren’t many spellcasters amongst the Blade, you know. It’s a treat to see such prowess.”

“That’s some of the strangest sweet-talking I’ve ever heard, but, I must admit, I do feel a bit flushed,” Lance said in return, and it wasn’t a lie. The only caveat was the fact that his flush was more from shame and embarrassment than flattery, but semantics could be toyed with sometimes.

Not to mention, a few sly words worked marvelously well during a fight. Lance struck out quickly as he spoke, and he watched with undeserved pride as Shiro staggered backwards to avoid the swipe of Lance’s sword; like that, stumbling and surprised, Shiro looked hardly taller than Lance. “Either way, I think it’d be prudent to save my magic for more pressing needs.”

Shiro staggered once more before recovering. Then, he lunged towards Lance with little hesitation, and all of Lance’s pride fell away from him at an almost alarming pace. “You have a point. There certainly are several more pressing enemies around us. I have to say, I never was especially fond of kelpie masters. Taming a kelpie rarely comes without a few clipped fins, I’ve found, and I can’t say I condone such behavior.”

“Be careful. Those kinds of words are often dangerous when spoken aloud. Of course, I always welcome and encourage whispers in the night about such things. What else is living within castle walls for?” Lance quipped playfully.

“Oh, I’m sure there are plenty of other fun activities to be had here. It appears to me that you have quite the admirer, you know.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out with a harried exhale as Shiro advanced on him again. Shiro moved just as quickly as Lance remembered, reach even longer than Lance had haphazardly calculated, and the match had been all but won already.

Regardless, Lance soldiered on. The other warriors around them had long since cleared away to watch their match, quiet yet ever-present. Kinkade, too, followed their every move, even though he clearly knew who the winner would be. Still, their rapt interest gave Lance more opportunities and avenues to dodge Shiro’s attacks for just a touch longer.

He dove behind a particularly large Galra for shelter, and then the commotion began.

They all murmured and laughed as he rushed through the stronghold they made, shifting easily to whatever side made it easier for Lance to move. Even Kinkade chuckled as he patted Lance once on the back before he leapt forwards once more, this time behind one the sturdy beams holding the place together.

The whole time, Shiro followed Lance’s every move diligently, only to flounder right before the downward fell of his blade lest his accidentally attack an innocent bystander. Like that, Lance held a semblance of a chance, so long as he still had the energy to play keep-away.

Unfortunately, he did not.

As he slowed, Shiro’s movements only quickened, and it was only a matter of time before he lost. That was fine by him, though. He hadn’t come in expecting to win.

At the same time, he had not come here expecting fire to unfurl before him as if it were a blaze willed by the stars themselves, and he tasted ash in the air.

The grounds were on fire right before him. Shiro recoiled in shock, and the rest of the soldiers stilled for a short eternity before springing into action, huddling together to maintain strength and numbers as they frantically searched for the culprit.

Within the rising chaos, Lance could barely make out the crack of lightning and familiar smell of rain over the mountainside.

But he heard it nonetheless.

Then, Romelle stood in front of him, daggers at the ready and shrieking with lightning.

His last line of defense.

Ever since she first came into her own powers, revealed to her through a thunderclap born from the sneeze of a young, teenage girl who dreamed of becoming an apothecary to help heal others, Romelle stood as his last line of defense.

Before him, she looked terribly small. Lance only ever knew her as slim, but there had been a time she stood taller than him. Now, however, even the crown of braids that sat high upon her head couldn’t make her stand as tall as Lance.

And yet, they had appointed her, a young girl with her own hopes and dreams, as his last line of defense.

She always stood in front of him, and Lance hated himself for it.

Kinkade, too, appeared in front of her shortly afterwards, his own gunblade cocked.

His first line of defense.

“The grounds are being invaded!” Kinkade yelled, gesturing wildly at the sky with his gunblade before firing.

And, lo and behold, above them flew airships, armed with emblems that Lance hardly recognized.

Enemies dropped down on them at an alarming rate. But, even more than that, they fell in heaps from heights that no living thing of their size could possibly survive.

A Blade soldier stabbed one quickly, and it should’ve stopped them.

It should have, and yet it did little. The figure continued to move forward, as if possessed, and the Blade soldier took a stunned step backwards. His blade shone clear with no blood in sight.

Their attackers, it appeared, were not what could be commonly considered as ‘alive’.

“Romelle, stand aside,” Lance whispered. He could already feel his magic materializing, desperate to come out and be bled free because unreleased magic was nothing if not impatient and needy.

He knew Romelle knew as much herself. Regardless, she shook her head, and her hair swayed with a conviction that Lance usually admired.

Now, though, it only made his magic furious.

“Romelle, I can help,” Lance implored. While he would mostly likely fare quite poorly against the foot soldiers attacking them, especially with there being so many of them, Lance was sure he could do something.

She just shook her head again. “I can’t. I have to protect you.”

By the heavens, Lance was _tired_ of hearing such talk. First of all, he wasn’t even the Crown Child. He could afford to get roughed up a little.

Secondly, if there was one situation where he actually had some use, it was this one.

He side-stepped past Romelle, magic whipping out of him, far beyond ready to be let loose. Romelle turned and tried to stop him, only to hastily duck her head to the side as a spear of ice, and then another, hurtled past her towards the ship because, while Romelle’s magic alone didn’t seem to be enough to stop it, perhaps the addition of Lance’s magic would help.

And it did.

The ship faltered, and their assailants who didn’t bleed slowed enough for the Blade soldiers to begin incapacitating them. Without a word, Romelle joined in once again, timing her lightning with Lance’s ice; while she wasn’t as skilled with projecting her magic at longer distances, a few bolt of lightning along with several more ice spears proved to be enough to fell the ship.

Good. Lance was still good for something, even if he still had to play keep away from the rest of their attackers because they hit hard, and Lance didn’t weather such hits very well. His past spars with Kinkade taught him that much clearly.

Either way, he was fine and quite useful now.

He turned to celebrate with Romelle, but, before he could, she whipped her head so quick that her hair assaulted Lance with a vengeance.

“Excuse me, what exactly were you trying to hit there? I couldn’t quite tell, what with how close that icicle came to spearing my pretty little head off, but I do certainly hope you weren’t trying to attack _me_ , one of the only people capable of tolerating you on a daily basis, or else I’m not sure I can continue being your personal attendant, or your occasional magic tutor, or your _friend_ for that matter,” Romelle fumed.

Lance grinned at her sheepishly. “Well, I did tell you to step aside.”

Her hair assaulted him once more. In front of them, while he wasn’t busy fighting off the straggling attackers, Kinkade laughed at their antics, which Lance didn’t entirely appreciate.

In fact, as preoccupied with Kinkade and Romelle as he was, Lance didn’t notice the invader lurking in the trees until he only saw Keith and a severed, bloodless head before him.

Lance said nothing as Keith turned to smile at him. His mind reeled in too fast for proper words.

Keith filled in the space himself. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not so sure I want to see myself trying to best you and your magic anymore. I have the sneaking suspicion that I would be no match against you, with just my dagger and a sword.”

Finally, Lance smiled in return. He simply couldn’t help it. His muscles moved of their own volition, and he had no mind to stop them.

“Who knows? If you’re good enough, then even I wouldn’t be able to persuade my magic to go against you,” Lance said lightly.

“I guess that just means I must endeavor to be good enough for you,” Keith replied. Behind him, the fire died down, thanks to the efforts of several Blade soldiers, and Lance almost longed for the flames to return and further highlight the planes of Keith’s shoulders.

Then, Romelle scoffed in response, feigning disinterest despite the upwards tilt of her mouth. Once again, Lance had no mind to care about it.

Though, Lance only had a few scarce moments to admire Keith in all his battle-won glory before his father and Coran burst into the training fields in a flurry of capes and fast-growing wrinkles.

“Lance,” his father gusted before falling onto his knees in front of him, lips pursed in a tight frown. “Are you alright?”

Lance nodded silently. Coran, on the other hand, wailed his relief quite loudly. Honestly, Lance thought the whole scene in front of him was far more dramatic than it needed to be, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the attention a bit; he hadn’t been this doted upon since the Galra Empire’s last invasion of Altea just over ten years ago.

On second thought, perhaps being fussed over like this bore ill omen.

Before he could think about the matter further, Allura arrived, too, falling upon Lance with even more flair than their father.

“Oh, Lance,” she whispered, voice buried in his hair. “How do you always find yourself in these situations?”

How, indeed. Allura very rarely found herself caught up in mini-invasions upon foreign land ordeals. At the same time, Allura rarely had the freedom roam around like this.

She was too important for that. Lance, while not entirely expendable, wouldn’t ever shake the foundation of Altea upon his loss. That was just the way these things worked. He knew as much, and she definitely did, too.

Regardless, he stroked her hair and let himself enjoy her embrace for as long as he could.

Ultimately, Lord Kolivan’s appearance broke the moment.

He spanned across the training grounds with long, quick strides, hardly giving Lance and Allura any time to properly compose themselves before he stopped to tower in front of them, expression set and resolute. His eyes swept across Lance’s frame, covered in dirt and the after breeze of soot, and Lance fought desperately against his urge to shrink away and duck behind his father’s legs.

He had long since grown too large for his father to shield him much at all away from prying gazes. Sadly.

So, Lance held himself still as Kolivan studied him. And, by the grace of something beyond his mortal comprehension, Lance even remained still as Kolivan bowed to him, head dipped so low Lande swore Kolivan would snap in half.

“You have my sincerest apologies for what has just transpired,” Lord Kolivan began. His voice came out like a rumble, and Lance felt shaken through it all. “On my own castle grounds you faced an assault from a foreign enemy, and that is inexcusable. I understand that I could never apologize enough for the danger I have put you in, and I don’t expect you to accept, but I want you to know that I am deeply regretful for my incompetence.”

The words were pretty, Lance thought. So much more so than any words Lance could ever come up with on the spot like that. Allura, on the other hand, could probably devise something that pretty on short notice if she had to. Their father, at least, definitely could, and Coran would come up with something that mimicked abstract poetry.

He wondered what kind of apology Keith would spin when he became Monarch. Regardless, being the fool he was, Lance would still find it beautiful.

Kolivan bowed again, somehow even deeper than before, and the sight of it snapped Lance out of his rambling thoughts.

“Please, lift your head,” Lance said awkwardly, racking his mind for the proper words. “No harm has befallen me, so your apology need not be so - so… intense.”

Allura sighed, but Coran chuckled.

Kolivan, too, seemed undaunted by Lance’s word choice. “Nonetheless, I am sorry. I’m also grateful for your helps, even if we shouldn’t have needed it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to be useful.”

Kolivan nodded at him once before turning his attention towards his father. Lance heard snippets of their conversation which included talk such as ‘discussion’, ‘plan of action’ and even ‘no need for a war’, but, overall, Allura commanded the vast majority of his attention.

Both fortunately and unfortunately.

She felt familiar, half-draped over Lance again now that Lord Kolivan’s attention was elsewhere, but she whispered up a storm in Lance’s ear the whole time.

“I swear, you are going to be the death of me,” Allura hissed. Her pretty little hands dug tightly into his shoulders. “Why are you always getting caught up in these situations? Do you think I’m happy with this? Remember how I all but died that one time you got lost in the nearby woods? I thought you’d got eaten by a Gijel. Remember how I forced father to fence off the woods because of you? Would you like me to simply fence _you_ off next?”

“Yes, yes, I hear you. I am the worst brother who’s certainly going to send you to an early grave with my uncouth and brash antics,” Lance sighed.

“I’m glad you understand that at least.”

Finally, Allura pulled herself away from Lance, giving him one last look of pure older sibling displeasure as she went.

In her place, Keith appeared.

“How are you?” Keith asked quietly. He leaned in close, and Allura gave Lance’s arm a quick pinch before not-so-subtly shimmying out of the way.

Sisters, Lance thought to himself, were both a blessing and a menace.

“I’m quite alright,” Lance said. “No harm came to me, thanks to your soldiers. And you, of course.”

“Of course,” Keith echoed. “I couldn’t just sit back and see you attacked on my own grounds, could I? I feel like I’ve already been a terrible host, though I have warned you before that l’m not especially good at all of this.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been a wonderful host.”

“Flattery suits you far better than me. I canalmost believe yours.” Keith said.

Lance had more to say. It was impossible not to, in the face of Keith so downtrodden and wry, but, before he can offer more reassurances, Keith sent Lance off with a few more words before leaving with Lord Kolivan to deal with whatever talks they must have in one those impressive rooms that Keith, only mere days ago, first kissed him in.

“Well, that was a bit disappointing. I was hoping to see something more interesting between the two of you, what with all your gift exchanges,” Allura whispered.

“You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels of yours.”

And she was forgetting one important, indelible fact - one that he would never forget.

Because he could never forget the words whispering in the back of his mind, teeth sunk deep into his nerves with the reminder of, omega, _omega, you are an **omega**._ But, for now, he could almost pretend he wasn’t.

After all, he had only had one violently bloody upheave today, and no one else had even seen it. If a tree fell in a forest and no one was there to hear it, did it even happen?

And, if all of Lance’s suppressants kept wearing him down, did it even matter if he kept quiet about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of stuff happened, i hope? please tell me what you think! the mood is shifting a bit, isn't it haha
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby) (bc i'm lonely lol)


	7. Chapter 7

Without even realizing it, the histrionics ensued, and even Lance, as an unassuming beta prince, was expected to take part in the frenzied, stress-laden festivities.

Namely, he got front-row seats to Lord Kolivan’s official address regarding the _situation_.

Lance sat and made several valiant attempts to avoid staring at Thace sitting across the table from him. To this day, he looked as pleasing as ever, big and wide, and Lance simply had to admire the handsome set of his chin.

In return, Thace smiled in that polite, vaguely aloof way of his — the same way he always used to as a temporary visitor of altruism to Altea, like he cared, but only from somewhere beyond physical touch, deep within the Fae’s realm. Lance smiled back, tentative, but Thace’s eyes offered him nothing besides bland reverence. Admittedly, that disappointed Lance a bit.

Something sounded to his left. He turned his head slowly, brushed his gaze upon Lord Kolivan’s stony expression as their eyes crossed paths for the barest of moments, before his eyes landed upon Keith. He sat somewhere regrettably far, hands clasped tight and face firm near his father.

He looked very much the part of a young prince like that. Perhaps he’d even play the part well, too.

Lance continued to stare on. The sight of Keith there was also quite pleasing to his frazzled sensibilities, but he brought Lance more comfort than Thace did. And; right now, Lance wanted every drop of calm he could get, even if the source began and ended with the sight of unfairly handsome and official men.

Thace shifted in Lance’s peripheral vision, but Lace had no mind to turn and watch. He wouldn’t dream of it — not when the sunlight now filtered through the windows perched above them just so, and Keith’s cheekbones looked absolutely stunning, framed with golden sunbeams and honeyed kisses.

Keith’s eyes slid to the side to find Lance’s. They gazed at each other for some time but made no attempts at acknowledgement. This was a different kind of scene, after all. They had little room for coy glances and promising smiles on this stage. This stage was too woefully regal and impressive for that. Sat here, even Lady Laod’ka had enough respect to sit tight and quiet as her omega attendant hovered dutifully behind her.

Someone shifted again. The unease in the room spiked. This time, however, his Father acted the culprit.

Allura reached her hand towards Lance’s, slow and silent. It felt warm against his own, familiar like a warm Altean day by the riverside where they used to play with worries, long before he had ever presented. Simpler times that he missed. The very same ones he’d never get back.

He opened his fist, felt her hand slip into his, and they waited.

And Lance tried his very best to stop himself from obsessively thinking about how this desk he currently sat at was the exact same one he perched upon to kiss Keith during his first night here, all needy and full of those pesky hormones of his. There existed a select number times, places, and occasions for such thoughts. This, most certainty, was not one of them.

Lance sucked in a harsh breath. Behind him, Kinkade brushed a warm hand against the tops of his shoulder for a fleeting, little thing. Lance wished that familiar feeling could have lasted, but being coddled by his personal guard wasn’t exactly an awe-inspiring look.

Allura tightened her grip. Lance squeezed back, and, finally, Lord Kolivan spoke.

“Thank you all of coming here. I greatly appreciate your cooperation. As you all are well-aware of, I’ve summoned you here to discuss the attack we recently faced within the Blade castle walls.”

Whispers. The whispers returned with a steady clip, and Lance could have puked from it all; he wondered if the whispers would ever cease. They all whispered their hearts’ content out, but they said nothing to Lord Kolivan himself.

Kolivan soldiered on regardless.

“My men and I have been investigating this attack diligently, and, for the sake of transparency and safety, I wanted to share with you all our findings.”

His speech blurred past Lance at a steady clip after that because, quite frankly, it appeared to Lance that Lord Kolivan and all his highly-trained and wildly intelligent Blade operatives knew little about the situation, in the end. He threw around phrases such as, “most likely not a targeted attack” and “test of their abilities”, but Lance gleaned little of much substance beyond that.

Or, he knew much, but he deigned to tell them all little.

Ultimately, Lord Kolivan made extra care to enforce the idea that the Galra Empire wasn’t behind the attack in the slightest. Behind him, Kinkade stiffened, and Coran frowned. Allura’s hands felt clammy in his own, but Lance couldn’t even imagine pulling away now.

Eventually, Lord Ajaiw spoke for them all.

“And how can you be so certain?” he asked. His voice boomed with all the command of an esteemed kelpie tamer, and he almost sounded something edging on formidable like that.

Kolivan’s following stare felt even more indomitable. “I know exactly what Galra drones are like - how they feel, what they look like, and the way they strike. Those were not Galra drones. Of that, I am certain. Out of anyone else in this room, only I could be so certain, and my certainly is strong.”

Lance’s father suddenly felt odd by his side. Maybe he felt offended by Lord Kolivan’s blatant lie. Sure, Lance held Kolivan in quite the high esteem, but even he felt offended by such blatant dishonesty.

Because they, too, knew exactly what the Galra drones were like. Invasions left heavy impressions, and fleeting nightmares of purple for some tended to settle in deep for them — for his father, that was fact. Indelible left marks that never seemed to fade, possibly even redder than the ones Kolivan bore.

But they were guests now. They had to keep face and keep silent. For Altea. For the reclamation of glory.

For peace.

Lance bit his lip before sliding his gaze to the right, and there Keith sat, as handsome as ever. For reasons beyond his comprehension, Lance just couldn’t find it in him to look away.

Keith blinked before looking back. He gifted Lance the barest scent of a smile before turning his attention back to Lord Kolivan, expression set and stoic once more.

And Lance had to keep face. For Altea. For the glory he couldn’t give Her himself.

After that, their haphazard meeting finally came to a close. No one seemed particularly pleased with the news, as encouraging as Lord Kolivan attempted to make it all sound, but, at the very least, they looked appeased as they filed out of the room. Not to mention, their frantically whispers finally quelled. With that, the bile ceased to climb up Lance’s throat with such viciousness.

Lance, too, left the room with little fanfare. He even managed to deter himself from turning back to catch another glimpse at Keith all the while because there were other, more pressing matters to be considered — as always.

And Lance needed to stop focusing so much attention on Keith. This could only be fun. There was no future in this. He knew that. He just needed to remind himself every so often.

Or always.

“Lord Kolivan was quite resolute in his claims that the invasion had nothing to do with the Galra Empire, wasn’t he?” Allura mused aloud once they were out-of-sight and within the relative safety and privacy of her guest quarters.

“You say that in that tone of voice of yours,” Lance replied.

“And what tone, exactly, are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know. It’s that hitch you speak with whenever you grow offended at the thought of others hiding the truth from you for your own sake,” Lance said lightly.

Allura wrinkled her nose at him. “You exaggerate.”

“You wish.”

She sighed. “Anyway,” she continued, exaggerated, “I just find it interesting, is all.”

“Do you not trust him?” he asked.

“I do. I simply believe he might be withholding pertinent information from the rest of us.”

“Don’t they always? Such is the nature of the beast when it comes to power, I suppose.”

“Yes, but it’s annoying,” she grumbled, and, with that, the conversation quickly drew to a close with that because their father, too, had a knack for holding all the really important secrets all to himself.

They all did.

 

* * *

 

 

Except, Lance was not ready to let the matter lay with something as banal and unfulfilling as that. His father always said that Lance was remarkably similar to his mother, after all — especially when it came to his insurmountable curiosity.

So, here he was, skulking around the Blade’s castle like some common thief, hoping to sneak up on some higher-up official who might let something slip while Lance ducked away into the shadows because he was truly an expert spy. He must be, considering he managed to escape even Kinkade’s watchful eye earlier that evening. Of course, Kinkade, at the time, had been busy with consulting Coran about potential future actions he might have to take during the remainder of their visit, but those were semantics. Lance didn’t have time to concern himself with such petty details while hurrying away from Blade sentries through darkened corridors.

He made a sharp left. He didn’t know where the left would take him, but it seemed more promising than the right. The right held too many voices, and Lance didn’t want to make himself look like some Altean spy. The left, however, was quiet, dark, and probably not all that safe for Lance to be traipsing down.

That was always promising.

He took another step forward. Silence greeted him. He took another four. Nothing. He felt confident now that he could, at the very least, avoid being caught and accused of subterfuge from all his sleuthing.

Except, he forgot that his mother’s confidence was just another folly of hers that he managed to inherit.

He took another step and felt cold steel pressed flat against his neck.

That, he knew, was the opposite of promising.

Lance didn’t turn to face his apparent attacker. He wasn’t a fool, and even he was not so inclined as to risk his life to settle a bit of curiosity. Metal wasn’t particularly want to bend, after all, and Lance quite liked having his head affixed nice and tight onto his shoulders. He had seen heads roll before. The sight was not pretty. In fact, the afterimages that lurked through the webs of his memories disgusted him. So, he waited and readied himself for either dramatics or disappointment.

Ultimately, he found neither.

Of course Keith wielded a sword. Lance knew this for a fact. He heard the stories — the tales of Keith’s prowess within the ring because how, exactly, did such a scrawny little thing continuously perform so well in the arenas with nothing more than a broadsword and the thin armor he seemed to prefer?

And then, oh.

He always won because he excelled at combat with a sword. He moved faster than most were equipped to deal with, and he hit harder than anyone anticipated from someone as unassuming as him, the adopted son of Lord Kolivan. A strange anomaly come to life. Shrouded in mystery, he did little of substance, if one thought hard about it. Though, for what he did do — namely, fight for glory with the emblem of the Blade stuck fast to his back — he always performed strikingly well.

He knew his way around a sword with a terrifying ease, clearly. So, Lance struggled to decide whether or not it made more sense to feel relieved or concerned at the sight of Keith circling around to catch a better glimpse of him, sword cold and at the ready all the while.

In the end, relief prevailed. As soon as Keith caught sight of Lance’s wary and sheepish expression, he dropped his sword and ushered Lance into a more secluded corner.

He felt warm, and his grip carried Lance away with quite the impressive command. Evidently, even upon potential threat of being caught prying through the affairs of foreign dignitaries and branded a spy, Lance couldn’t help but admire Keith’s physical prowess.

And his scent, too, heady and hot as always. It crept slowly through Lance’s senses before sticking fast, and his head swam with needy delight.

Perhaps Lance needed to increase the dosage and efficacy of his spells. These were not auspicious emotions to bear right now.

Regardless, he definitely had them as Keith leaned in close to whisper into the space beside Lance’s ear.

“What are you doing here?” Keith hissed. He leaned in closer. The top of chest, from his pectorals up to where his collarbones likely laid beneath his clothes, pressed up ever-so-lightly against Lance.

This was _definitely_ not auspicious.

Not to mention, Lance couldn’t very well tell him the truth right now. What, exactly, would he even say?

“My sincerest apologies in advance, dearest Prince. Unfortunately, I must admit that I believe your father, Lord Kolivan, is hiding pertinent information from the rest of us. Now, I quite understand that these intricacies and well-kept secrets tend to be concomitant with such political affairs. I, too, am a Prince, after all.

Regardless, as the Prince of a nation who has long-since suffered from the affairs and ambitions of the Galra Empire, I cannot help but feel somewhat slightest by your father’s blatant omissions, especially considering the fact that I was so deeply involved in fending of said invasion. As such, I have decided to take the prerogative to go ahead and sneak through your castle walls in a strange, ill-informed, and not at all thought-out ploy to search out and possibly find a clue regarding whatever your father is keeping so covert from the rest of us. I hope you find that agreeable?”

Lance might as well just prostrate himself instead, if he were to be honest.

So, he devised a grand old lie.

“I wanted to see you,” Lance said quickly because he could sense Keith’s impatience growing with each passing moment. “So I could thank you for helping me earlier. During the invasion, I mean. You were quite spectacular out there.”

Keith blinked several times, all in quick succession. Then, he frowned, unconvinced. Nonetheless, his eyes barely held any bite to them, and Lance, for once, was glad to have someone interested in so deeply. Otherwise, he doubted Keith would be so willing to halfway turn a blind eye during such suspicious circumstances.

“What are you doing here, then? Near the dungeons?” Keith asked once the skeptical lift of his eyebrow finally lessened. At the mention of the dungeons, Keith’s eyes darted behind them. There, back there from where Keith had apparent come from, looked bleak. The lights were barren and low. Stillness overtook the usual hustle and bustle Lance had grown accustomed to here. Suddenly, and fiercely, Lance felt nervous.

“I didn’t know where I was going. I was just going to… explore a bit and hope to stumble upon you along the way,” Lance admitted.

Except, Keith’s damn eyebrow could not stay down, it seemed.

Keith’s voice was deceptively light. “Oh? And you didn’t bother to ask for assistance? I’m sure one of our several guards stationed all over the premises would have been more than happy to guide you to my quarter, if you’d approached any of them.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t come across any on my way here.”

“No?”

“No,” Lance said with as much false decisiveness he could muster. “I must have just missed them.”

“You must have,” Keith echoed.

“But I found you. So, all’s well that ends well, yes?”

Keith held back a sigh, but Lance could still feel it from the subliminal force of his exhale. “I suppose so. Shall _I_ lead you to my quarters, then, now that you’ve found me?”

Lance bit back his bereaved groan. He had been doing so well before this, dodging away from all the guards and whatnot. He even went through the efforts of concocting a weak brew for protection for this — by himself, no less, and his brewing skills paled sickly white compared to Romelle’s. Having Keith derail his completely noble efforts was not part of his plans. Honestly, it felt a bit disappointing.

But he couldn’t say no now. First of all, his hastily concocted lie wouldn’t allow for it. Secondly, his delicate, sensitive, and downright smitten soul was actually quite pleased with this turn of events because Keith looked so handsome like this, and all Lance wants to do was admire him even more.

So, he swallowed the film of disappointment that yet lingered his tongue and said, “Yes, let us go.”

And that was that.

They spoke little as they walked. Keith kept his stride long and the tight of his back set straight. Lance, thusly, found himself too distracted with the sight to think of much note to say. Not to mention, he wanted to avoid talking too much, lest he accidentally let slip his true intentions behind his late-night wanderings; he doubted even Keith would be so tolerant then.

Maybe.

Along the way, they came across several guards on patrol who all went through great lengths to greet them with all the formality Lance hated. Each time they bowed, Keith made certain to glance over at Lance with the tiniest pinch in the corner of his mouth, as if to say, “Look at all these guards. They are everywhere. What do you mean you missed them?”

Lance simply bit his tongue and thanked the stars that Keith, for whatever unfathomable reason, found him attractive.

Then, they finally reached their destination. In front of Keith’s quarters stood Shiro, vigilant as ever. He bowed his head Lance’s way, smiling with a devious glint in his eyes. Lance smiled back before Keith quickly ushered him inside, to Shiro’s apparent amusement.

“Would you like anything? Tea? Something to eat? I have a few snacks hidden away somewhere in here, though they’re nothing especially impressive if you’re in the mood for something more substantial,” Keith said.

“Tea’s fine. Thank you.”

Keith brewed, and Lance sat. The room looked impressive. That much he expected for a Prince. At the same time, the decor was rather bland, and, for as grand and large as the place was, Keith possessed little to fill the space. Around them laid a few pieces of furniture — the essentials, mostly — that were almost completely barren on top. The one thing that truly caught Lance’s attention was a dagger of some kind resting atop Keith’s bedside dresser. The sheath looked mundane, but, peaking through on the hilt, Lance could just barely see some kind of jewel encrusted there.

It shone purple. The very purple Lance remembered from the Galra’s weapons, emblazoned with the kind of bastardized magic only they knew.

The same kind of magic the Blade had denounced upon their defection from the Empire.

Keith stepped in front of him, and the clatter of a fine piece of dishware came down upon him harshly.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Keith said. He bore his gaze into Lance’s sharply.

“I’m sure it is,” Lance replied hesitantly. He took a sip. It burned. Regardless, he swallowed and set his attention on his cup so he could pretend like he didn’t notice Keith not-so-subtly hiding his dagger away elsewhere.

After all, Lance could only go around investigating so many things at once. It wouldn’t do to be too much like his mother. He suspected doing so would only upset him.

Keith returned moments later, only slightly tense now. He sat across from Lance, and the crease between his brows looked like a shame.

“My apologies if it tastes strange. Everyone tells me I make tea far too strong,” Keith eventually said.

They were right. The tea was strong. It burned hot, and it went down bitter. Lance could only hope he could fend off the tears for a bit longer because crying in front of Keith over poorly-brewed too would be rude.

Eventually, Lance swallowed another hot gulp with a smile. “It is a bit strong, but I don’t find it unpleasant.”

“Once again, I’m impressed with just how well you lie,” Keith scoffed.

“Well, I can’t be that good if you can always tell.”

“You are. Trust me. I’ve just become accustomed to it over the past few years, since Kolivan brought me here.”

Lance took another slow sip. This time, it tasted sickly sweet. “Do they… not approve of you? As their Prince?”

Keith shook his head. “They do. They approve of anything Kolivan decides. They’re loyal like that, painfully so. So, no, they don’t disapprove of me. They’ve simply grown tired of waiting for me to prove myself.”

“You do so well in those tournaments, though. I was being truthful when I mentioned how spectacular you are with a sword, you know. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t see you in action myself during the small tournament here a few days ago,” Lance said.

“Yes, but winning tournaments means little, at the end of the day. Anyone can wield a sword with enough practice. Battle prowess does not make a prince. I need to earn their trust in other ways. Soon.”

Lance should not say it. He should not ask. He should probably not even think it. The cosmos very likely granted him its own kind of blessing when they steered him towards Keith earlier today. He should just receive his gift with gratitude without looking back to see if anything better remains. That, surely, would be the smart thing to do — the rational, reasonable, _responsible_ thing to do.

Lance knew that. He wasn’t stupid. Honest.

Of course, that meant he just had to go and do it anyway.

“Is that why you were near the dungeons?” Lance asked. His tea felt cold in his grip. The smell no longer comforted him. Keith’s eyes grew harsh, but Lance could only continue. “Did you have some official business down there? A pesky prisoner of war, perhaps?”

“You seem very interested in the Blade’s affairs tonight,” Keith said slowly. A cup of tea sat before him, too, but Keith didn’t move to touch it. The tea leaves were already settling, though. The message they left behind looked ominous. “I thought you came here so you could speak to me? Not discuss such heavy and formal topics.”

“I am. Speaking to you, that is. I’m just curious, is all.”

Keith picked up his cup. The leaves swirled. They almost seemed to mock Lance. The picture they left behind blurred, and Lance couldn’t read them at all anymore.

They jostled even further apart when Keith spoke. “They say curiosity killed the cat. Besides, these affairs don’t concern you.”

Lance bit the inside of his cheek until the metallic tang overpowered the lingering bittersweet stuck to his gums. “Does it not?”

“No. They don’t. These are Blade affairs. I wouldn’t want to burden such an esteemed guest like yourself with them.”

And that was the end of that. Keith’s voice held no room for debate, and the clench of his fingers around delicate handle of his nice, expensive cup also didn’t look especially promising; he held on so tight it looked like it hurt, and Lance could see the red and blues of Keith’s veins beneath the startling white.

They criss-crossed over each other delightfully coy, trying their best. Lance counted the avenues they passed over and wondered how they did it.

Keith’s sigh drew his attention away.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. I swear. But, truly, I don’t want to inundate you with such bland concerns if I don’t have to,” Keith whispered. His veins disappeared in time with the resurgence of those sweet, soft eyes of his. Like that, he looked as if he truly cared. Something about that terrified Lance as much as it soothed him. “I’d much prefer if your stay here was an enjoyable and peaceful experience instead.”

“I don’t know about that. That invasion already happened, after all,” Lance breezed, offhand — and a bit cruelly, in hindsight, based on the way Keith flinched away from him.

The veins were back. Meaner this time. Lance was being mean, too.

“I know. I apologize.”

Lance wanted to rub at his eyes furiously until the raw rub left behind hurt more than the pressure past his sinuses. He wanted to let out a deep, drawn-out sigh, so rampant it could only be considered a slight. He wanted to let out all his frustrations over the fact that people kept hiding secrets from him because he was only a lowkey beta, so what did it matter what he knew or what he thought? His father kept many things from him for that reason alone.

‘For your own good,’ Coran always told him. ‘There’s much to be grateful for when you’re not the Crown Child. You have many freedoms that Allura will never possess. Your father is just trying to help you keep hold of them all.’

But, by the stars, was Lance sick of it all. If that were true, he might as well not have even been born.

As an omega, he _surely_ would have done better if he hadn’t born. But, despite all that, he still took his Royal Circlet with him as if he truly deserved it.

Furthermore, who was he to complain, as the biggest secret-keeper of them all? His mother, for all her virtues and flaws, had never been a hypocrite. He couldn’t be the one to start that trend.

In the end, the sigh would not be entirely stifled, though he did manage to tamp it down into something moderately acceptable. Then, Lance smiled with as much vigor he could manage.

“No, I must be the one to apologize. I’m afraid I’ve ruined the mood for our impromptu meeting, haven’t I?” Lance asked.

“It’s fine. I understand you must have some reservations and questions after what’s happened.”

Wasn’t that an understatement? But, answers rarely came to someone like Lance easily.

Lance laughed bitterly. “I have to say, you are genuinely far too kind. It might be your greatest flaw as prince, at this rate.”

“If that’s the price to pay to have your company, I don’t mind paying it in the slightest.”

Lance laughed again, lighter this time. “Speaking of prices to pay, you must be the frugal type. Your room’s awfully empty.”

“To be honest, I’m afraid to own too much for myself. Sometimes, I think this is all a dream. Me, being here. Being called the Prince of the Blade.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond. With what, he was unsure, but he needed to say something when Keith looked so terribly despondent like that.

Except, before he could, the bell rang out. Twelve strokes. The night had come upon them quicker than Lance imagined.

“I suppose you should be leaving now. I’ll lead you back to your room, seeing as you struggle with finding guards to help you,” Keith said as he stood up from his seat.

Lance refused to move. “Are you kicking me out?”

Keith paused. “I would never. I just assumed it would be prudent for you to return to your quarters before it grew too late. I have the sneaking suspicion that your personal guard Kinkade wouldn’t appreciate you being gone for so long.”

Apparently, reading Kinkade was quite the simple feat. Regardless, Lance held firm by keeping his bottom sat steadfast on his seat.

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t mind staying the night with you. If you’ll have me, that is,”  Lance whispered. 

He licked his lips; Keith licked his lips at a tortuous pace, eyes locked on Lance’s. They looked a little less sweet now as they studied Lance, intent as a beast approaching its prey, but no less beautiful.

“I hope you understand what you’re saying,” Keith said slowly.

Lance frowned. “Of course I do. I’m not daft.”

Keith took a single step forward. Then, another, and Lance could’ve crooned at the way he smelled now. His scent burned bright and thick with desire, and Lance wanted to flop onto the ground and roll in it like a pampered kitten.

He didn’t, of course, but may have let loose the smallest purr as Keith continued to approach.

“Are you sure?” Keith breathed.

“Yes.” And that, at the very least, really was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been awhile hasn't it,,, haha
> 
> i have lots of stuff already planned out for this story, but this chapter was a bit difficult to write. it's here now, though, hehe. i hope it isn't too boring?
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


	8. Chapter 8

“If your guard comes for my head tomorrow, I fully expect you to deliver a _grand_ eulogy at my funeral. I would like to be remembered for something more than my death from an ill-advised romp with a prince, no matter how pretty you may be. I hope you keep my wishes in mind,” Keith said as soon as they fell into bed together.

“You should be more concerned about Coran, I think. Either way, I won’t let you worry about a single thing. If would be a shame, you know, to let someone as handsome as you face such an unfortunate fate.”

“Nor I you,” Keith whispered. “I promise.”

Lance tried to hide his blush. Truly, he did. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he willed for the heat of his face to settle, he couldn’t avoid the bloom of red across his chest up his neck now that Keith had divested him of his shirt.

His chest burned hot, all the way to the tips of his ears. He was always so obvious when it came to matter like this, body traitorous and thoughts swimming too deep to control himself. In all honesty, Lance loathed this part of himself — the part that simply went beyond his volition, driven by the needs and hormones he wish he could abandon.

At least, usually he did. Right now, however, Keith stared down at him with such unbidden reverence that Lance couldn’t help but wonder whether or not there really was something about him to behold.

Keith shifted forward, crowding against Lance as he hovered over him on all fours. Lance, in turn, leaned back against the plush pillows on Keith’s bed. He sank into them less than he expected, and Keith easily took advantage of that to further bridge the gap between them.

Lance surged forward from somewhere unbidden and beyond himself.

“Someone’s eager,” Keith noted quietly. His breath dusted the apples of Lance’s cheeks, like sundrop kisses from the graces of a cool summer breeze, and Lance wanted to bathe in it until his body stripped bare into something fresh, new, and safe.

“I can’t help it. You are quite the treat, after all,” Lance admitted.

Keith pulled away. Lance yearned for the lovely ocean storm breeze he took with him as he went.

“Sometimes, the things you say astound me.”

Lance cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows — very dramatically, if he were honest. In any other situation, such a thespian expression would be considered rude. Even now, as he lay half-nude in Keith’s royal, regal bed, it was still probably a bit uncouth. Nonetheless, Keith’s words left Lance feeling utterly perplexed, and he felt compelled to let Keith know with as much drama as he could manage.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked when it became obvious that Keith had no inclination to answer his unspoken question — the nerve of him, honestly, to keep Lance waiting when he brimmed with need.

“I just find it strange that you’re so generous with such compliments when you look so, so beautiful.”

Lance flushed again. Then, he laughed. Keith, presumably from the suddenness of it all, drew back in haste, slack-jawed and caught unawares. Of course, Lance could only laugh harder at that.

“What? Did I say something strange?” Keith asked.

“Strange is putting it lightly,” Lance hiccuped. “To imply that I’m some divine delight to gaze upon compared to you might be one of the best jokes I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s the truth,” Keith insisted.

Lance shot a pointed look Keith’s direction, beginning at his devilishly handsome face before roving down to the light trail of hair smattered smartly across Keith’s lower abdomen. “You’re blind.”

“I would argue that you’re actually the blind one here.”

“Maybe we should both agree to disagree on this matter. Otherwise, we might never move from this spot,” Lance teased because his blush grew hotter by the second, and he might very well combust at this point from the fervor of his own heartbeat.

Death by embarrassment laced with adoration. Such an laughable ending was too unimpressive for even him. Though, Allura and Romelle would probably cry over him nonetheless.

Kinkade would laugh after the initial tear.

And life would saunter on as always.

Keith moved forward again, dragging Lance out of his musings with a wry smile.

“I suppose I’ll stop for now. Though, I hope to one day show you just how highly I think of you,” Keith said.

“Those are strong words considering the limited time we’ve actually spent together.”

Keith shrugged. “Emotions are strange like that, aren’t they?”

“I suppose they are,” Lance murmured because his were dreadfully strong even though this was just a fun romp to be had with a prince with duties far above the both of them.

Emotions were a notoriously tricky thing. Of that, everyone knew. Lance just wished his would show their hand every so often, for his own sake.

Perhaps, there was a straight flush somewhere back there. A royal flush would more apt, though, considering their station. Princes of sad, little nations — one flourishing, while the other struggled to hold fast onto whichever coattails passed their reign.

Because the scepter had passed hands long ago. Since long ago, it ceased to bear Altea’s crest.

Since then, all they wished for was its return.

But Lance could not give them that.

In hindsight, he suspected his emotions owned nothing save for Jokers.

“I hope I haven’t scared you off.”

Lance blinked and saw Keith hovering above him, eyebrows dipped in question. And, oh, did he look lovely like that.

“Of course not,” Lance said, sucking down the tremor in his voice. Because this was a nice moment. This was supposed to be a nice, joyful moment of fun. This was going to be fun. “I’m just still a bit caught up in your spectacularly high opinion of me.”

“Well, if you’ll allow me the pleasure, I can show you me sentiments, too.”

“Let’s see it, then.”

Keith wasted no time. He surged down and pressed his chest into Lance’s in a flurry. He ran hot — even hotter than Lance, against all conceivable odds — and he kissed even hotter.

Lance melted into it almost immediately.

He melted into a pool of Allura’s favorite sugar-spun cake, smothered in warm honey and molasses, and Keith followed his slow thaw, flattening himself down against Lance even more. Slowly, and then abruptly, Lance felt Keith’s legs splay wide against Lance’s side, pressing inwards, unrelenting and wonderfully firm.

Keith broke the kiss, and Lance could hardly even see Keith’s smirk right in front of him from how buzzed with desire his mind felt.

“How’s that?” Keith asked.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. You could write a play with such odes. In fact, you should. I would love to see it,” Lance breathed.

Keith chuckled lowly before lowering his head once again. He lined his lips with the follow between Lance’s collarbones, and his breath tickled as much as it teased.

“How about I just run through the first draft with you now?” Keith asked.

Lance, of course, couldn’t turn that down.

His tongue wrote many a beautiful song across Lance’s collarbones from the dips and the suckles he left behind. They were all lovely, to no doubt, like spun-sugar turned into liquid ambrosia, and Lance drank them up eagerly.

Though, he refused to be so assiduously shown up. With all the wanton strength he could muster, Lance thrust his hips up against Keith’s, and he reveled in the way Keith faltered in response.

And with that began their strange game.

Lance rolled his crotch against Keith’s again, encouraged by the press of Keith’s growing erection on his own. Keith responded with a heavy nip on Lance’s neck before nosing his way up to the unfairly sensitive skin behind Lance’s ear.

He licked once. Lance went through a grand series of trials and tribulations to stifle the shiver that so desperately wished to make itself known.

Keith licked again, adding a tortuous scrape of teeth to the mix, and now Lance was already on the losing end of this fun little romp.

A traitorous moan escaped from his mouth, which he tried so hard to keep shut almost painfully tight, determined to maintain some semblance and control and power. Often, during all those official gatherings Lance sometimes attended, the one who managed to utter the last word became the de facto victor. Because everyone remembered famous last words. Everything else eventually became lost to the anulls of time, like young princes who served their country in ways the people did not care to regale.

On the other hand, while laying with beautiful young men with soft smiles and daggers that they most certainly should not possess, the victory went to the one who could keep his mouth shut for the longest.

Keith kissed a long, wet trail down the side of Lance’s neck. Lance gasped, all needy and not at all refined, and thus came the regrettable — or perhaps blessed — end to their little game.

Keith drew away and set to work on his own trousers first. He pawed at the laces clumsily, fingers fumbling without purchase for several tense moments. Slowly, Lance reached up to guide Keith’s hands through the motions before helping Keith free himself completely of them.

And then there he was, in all his glory.

To be completely frank, Lance had seen bigger before. Though, that certainly didn’t make Keith any less impressive. Either way, Lance’s heady anticipation spiked aggressively high in an instant, and he thought his body would overheat just from the sight of Keith naked in front of him.

How absolutely unfair and woefully unsurprising.

Keith settled back slowly, hands eager. “Is this still alright?” he asked, eyes flickering down to Lance’s still-clothed cock.

Lance smiled before leaning in to palm at Keith’s dick, to his simultaneous delight and shock.

“Yes, definitely. You’re quite the concerned man, aren’t you?” he teased.

“I —“ Keith drew in a sharp breathe as Lance gently stroked his fingertips over the head of his erection, “I — I just want to make sure. That you’re enjoying this. Because I really want you to.”

Oh. That was too cute.

“How sweet of you,” Lance hummed, leaning his head in closer, making sure to lengthen to span of his neck that Keith evidently loved lavishing attention with. Then, he unfastened his own pants with ease while Keith watched on, mouth agape and expression drenched in desire. Maybe the game could still continue after all. “Now, let me return the favor.”

Now, he especially appreciated the fact that Keith wasn’t extremely well-endowed. If he were, he wouldn’t be able to fit inside Lance’s mouth so well, and that would’ve been a crying shame. As it stood — tall and ready for more — the head and a bit more filled up Lance’s mouth with the most delightful stretch while leaving enough behind for Lance to wrap his hands around for extra leverage to tease with.

He sucked in tight and felt his cheeks hollow in time with the ‘pop’ of his mouth each time he bobbed his head. Keith, to his credit, help himself back from thrusting too much despite the pretty little moans he kept letting out. But, that only encouraged Lance even more.

Except, Keith was apparently not one to take such blatant losses without any attempts to strike back. After a few more minutes of that, Keith urged Lance to cease with a few gentle tugs on Lance’s hair. Then, he resorted to more aggressive tactics once he realized Lance was not going to relinquish his advantage so easily, and, oh, did that please Lance.

“Enough of that,” Keith gusted, fingers still interlocked with Lance’s hair. “You’ll ruin me if you keep going.”

“That _is_ the plan.”

Keith smiled ruefully. “I’m sure it is. But then that’ll be the end of our little rendezvous here. Wouldn’t that be disappointing?”

“Disappointing for who?”

“For both of us, I’d like to think.”

Lance put on a great show of pondering Keith’s words. “The argument you have presented is mighty convincing.”

“I certainly try.”

“I do adore a man who tries,” Lance purred before finally conceding his hand to Keith.

And Keith took the opportunity with vigor. That sneaky bastard latched his mouth against the back of Lance’s ear almost immediately, and Lance couldn’t help but keen at the sensation. Next, Keith moved his attentions to Lance’s neglected dick, and he, somehow, knew all of Lance’s sweet spots there, too.

Lance groaned helplessly. Of course, he could’ve also gone ahead and teased Keith further, but he was determined to be merciful and fair, like the not-leader of Altea he was meant to be.

It proved to be difficult, in the end. He hasn’t been trained thoroughly enough in the art to weather it with much grace, as evidenced by his constant moaning and the tiny little thrusts that escaped him, begging Keith to go fast, harder, give him _more_. Thankfully, Keith didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Do you — Do you want to go further?” Keith asked breathlessly. He looked down at Lance with glassy, hopeful eyes, full of something gentle and warm.

And Lance couldn’t bear to look back for long. This was just a bit of fun, he reminded himself. Don’t go looking for things that could never be.

“You don’t always have to ask me,” Lance responded.

“I — I like to make sure.”

Lance tilted his head to the side with a smile. “I feel like you’ve lost your tongue since we began. You’ve been fumbling over your own words quite a bit.”

“I can’t help it,” Keith admitted. “Not with you.”

**Do not expect more.**

“Then kiss me again, and we won’t have to worry about it much longer, yes?”

Keith obliged within moments. Then, Lance felt Keith reach over to rummage at away at something to his right, lips still seeking out Lance’s. He returned soon enough, and Lance groaned deep and long at the feeling of slick fingers brushing up against his thigh.

Because Lance didn’t produce slick. Not with these suppressants. He made sure of that. The facade truly rested in the details, he knew. Everything else came easy after that.

“How — How would you like to do this?” Keith asked.

There was that little stutter of his again. Lance found it ridiculously endearing.

He smiled again, into the kiss and straight into Keith’s mouth. “Actually, why don’t you let me do it? I trust this oil of yours is already spelled against disease.”

Keith gave Lance a questioning look as he nodded his response, but he never once said anything as Lance took the bottle of oil from Keith’s hand. All he did was let out a gasp and a wanton growl at the sight of Lance slicking his fingers up before sliding them down to his own entrance, easily slipping a finger in because he was too eager, and the night felt like it was going to end far too quickly if he didn’t hurry up.

He added a second finger minutes later, too impatient to wait much longer. He felt Keith shuffle around him as he did so and then heard Keith suck in a sharp breath as he scissored himself open.

“Let me help,” Keith said, and his breath fanned against Lance’s skin like the caress from an old lover come back from the grave. “Please.”

“Yes,” was all Lance could give.

Keith pressed a single finger inside besides Lance’s, barely thicker than his own but so much longer. He moved in time with Lance, but he dug in deep, hitting Lance within in ways Lance simply couldn’t.

And he was so good at it too.

As with every other part of Lance, Keith found all his sensitive spots with ease. Soon enough, Lance found himself keening and begging for more with all the shamelessness that he never knew he had.

“Please,” Lance whimpered, eyes blurred and body so hot, burning up like a fever dream. “Please, Keith, I want — I _need_ —“

“Now who’s lost their tongue?” Keith huffed breathlessly.

“I can’t help it. I guess that’s what happens when you’re about to get fucked by a dashing prince like yourself.”

Keith snorted out a strangled laugh before pulling his finger out. Lance did too, and then he felt Keith’s cockhead pressed up against his entrance, and even that felt extraordinarily, terrifyingly amazing.

“Tell me when,” Keith said.

“Now, _now_ , Heavens I need it now.”

Thankfully, Keith was not the type to deny Lance for long. He pushed in slowly at Lance’s demands, and Lance’s mind faltered something fierce at the sensation of Keith filling him up so perfectly, stretching him open in the most scrumptious way possible.

“Good?” Keith questioned when he was fully seated within Lance.

“Wonderful,” Lance mewled. “Absolutely fantastic. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good.”

“I’m impressed that you’re so good at flattery even with someone’s cock inside you,” Keith said. His words were lewd, to be sure, arguably unfit for a prince, but that only pleased Lance even more.

“It’s the truth. Your cock is just that good,” Lance teased in return, and he felt Keith’s laugh reverberate inside him from how raucous it was.

“Good. I’m glad,” Keith said with a lovely bit of sincerity.

Then, Keith began thrusting, and Lance couldn’t possibly think of anymore witty banter after that.

He snapped his hips forward with enviable, evocative strength, alternating between slow drags and hasty thrusts in some sort of pattern that Lance found impossible to fully comprehend. At the very least, he certainly couldn’t keep track. Instead, he let himself he swept away in it, clawing at Keith’s back and shoulders futilely as he was pounded into.

Because Keith moved inside Lance as if he had memorized exactly where Lance’s sensitive points were because he hit it with every thrust, leaving Lance an embarrassing mess of bliss and lust. Lance rolled his hips in time with Keith’s as best as he could, but his efforts only lasted so long before his body trembled too much for him to properly keep up.

At least Keith didn’t seem to mind too much.

“Lance,” he groaned, letting his head fall back down over Lance’s shoulder, leaving a few errant kisses here and there before lavishing Lance’s chin and mouth with attention. “Lance, you feel good. So good.”

“I’m glad,” Lance breathed, echoing Keith’s earlier sentiments. “I’m so, so glad.”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged little more pleasantries during their fuck after that. Lance simply didn’t have the mind to continue with such saccharine words. All he could truly think about was the way Keith pressed into him, firm and hot, and describing those feelings wouldn’t have been nearly as pleasant as he would’ve liked. Not to mention, he figured his copious moans and mewls were good enough to convey most of that.

Furthermore, he didn’t last long enough for many more quips or exchanges. After a few more moments of wonderful and splendid thrusting on Keith’s part, Lance could feel his own orgasm beginning to mount.

“Keith,” he breathed, mind swimming and vision lost save for the visage of Keith, Keith, _Keith_ before him. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Neither am I,” Keith said, nuzzling his face into the crook of Lance’s shoulder. “Stars above, neither am I.”

In the end, Keith came first. With a guttural grunt, he bit down on Lance’s shoulder before coming deep inside, hips still stuttering all the while. Upon feeling the heat of Keith’s spend, along with the light burn that accompanied Keith’s affections about his throat — terribly close to Lance’s scent gland which he had forgotten to be ticklish around, he belatedly realized — Lance, too, couldn’t contain himself for much longer. So he came, back arched as a string of noises he had never heard come from his own mouth before fell out in a long, haphazard string of notes and pleasure.

Ultimately, he remembered little in the direct aftermath. He recalled heat upon his abdomen, from his own spend most likely, along with the heat that Keith just radiated, so intense and cloying compared to his. Vaguely, he remembered Keith smoothing his hair down as he whispered a string of delightfully cheesy nothings, held together by the reverent tone of Keith’s voice. Keith kissed him, all over, this time, and Lance swore that he kissed and whispered back just as many hopelessly romantic sentiments.

“I really do like you,” he thought someone might’ve said. “But affairs like these rarely come to much fruition, you know.”

“I know,” someone else possibly stated. “For now, though, let us enjoy this. We can worry about semantics another time.”

“Do you know? Truly?”

Silence. Followed by a, “Maybe not. There are many things I don’t know, I suppose. But, for now, I do know that I enjoy your company. A lot. Please, at least let me bask in it for now.”

And who could request such a humble request?

Then, Keith left him. Only for a moment, of course. He quickly returned with a warm washcloth, touch tender as he wiped Lance down. Unconsciously, Lance leaned into the ministrations, and Keith kissed him once more and more.

“You look tired,” Keith whispered.

“I am. I must admit, you’ve worn me out,” Lance said lightly, even as his eyes dropped heavily.

“Then sleep. I’ll wake you up early, so you can try to sneak back to your quarters without too much trouble.”

“Aren’t you a good guy?” Lance murmured sleepily.

“I try,” he heard Keith say. And with that came the end of their nice evening together.

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Keith roused Lance awake right before the sunrise. Lance responded with an angry huff, hair disheveled and eyes blurry as he snuggled even deeper within the covers. Keith refused to let up, however, and Lance truly was grateful for that, hours later.

“I’ll see you again later. I promise. For now, however, you must leave,” Keith said.

“Kicking me out, I see,” Lance sniffed once he was awake enough to do so. “What a gentleman you turned out to be.”

“I’ll treat you more kindly next time. Promise.”

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.”

Keith shrugged, and his smirk looked far too sharp for such an early morning. “I have a hunch.”

And Lance could not in good conscience deny him. So, he slipped out of Keith’s quarters following one last kiss. Shiro was gone now, replaced by two guards. One offered Lance an apathetic bow, while the other lead Lance back to his own rooms.

Lance did not miss the way said guard deliberately lead Lance away from where the supposed dungeons were, but that was fine — for now. Either way, Lance has bigger concerns in the form of Kinkade, standing in front of his room with such a grievous glare that left Lance surprised to still composed of flesh instead of stone. Romelle, too, stood there, waiting, but at least she appeared more agreeable to seeing him again.

“Did you have fun?” Kinkade asked, voice steely and expression stern.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Lance answered. He dipped his voice full of false bravado and puffed up his chest for emphases, but Kinkade remained unimpressed. Though, that was par for the course of him. Lance had almost grown accustomed to dealing with it all.

“Was it worth sneaking away from me?” Kinkade continued. He crossed his arms, pushed his weight all onto a single leg, and that terrified Lance. He looked far too much like Allura like that, and that was terrifying as much as it was amusing.

Lance opened his mouth. Then, he closed it, for he couldn’t decide whether or not the truth would actually benefit him here.

Swiftly, like the grace of a goddess come down on him upon the waves of a thunderstorm, Romelle swooped in to his rescue with a cheery smile and wave of her hair. “Oh, come now Kinkade. Who could really deny a midnight romp with Prince Keith? Certainly not Lance. You know as much. Lance has always been weak to physical joys, impressionable as he is.”

Or perhaps she was just some heavenly jester sent to add salt to the wounds.

Nonetheless, Kinkade sighed, and Lance knew the matter was mostly forgiven. “I suppose you’re right.” He turned his attention back to Lance. “At least inform me of these kinds of plans in the future. I nearly tore the castle grounds apart before Keith’s guard came to inform me.”

“Noted,” Lance said with finality.

Except, Romelle refused to let it go. She asked a flurry of questions, most of which Lance refused to answer. Though, he had to boast a bit.

Because why not? It had just been a bit of fun. Such paltry things were meant to be gossiped and giggled over. Only serious endeavors deserved secrecy.

Romelle laughed, and Kinkade smiled. In return, Lance swallowed down another mouthful of bile.

It was fun. This was fun, he told himself.

He had always been bad at lying to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *le gasp* an update after only a week? that's because this chapter is like all smut, whoopS!
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)
> 
> (also bc i'm lonely, pls talk to me)


	9. Chapter 9

The peace lasted for an astonishingly long stretch of a day and a half.

The inhabitants and guests of the castle ambled through the halls with only the slightest hint of trepidation, while guards appeared more and more frequently with each passing moment and turn of the corner. They underwent great pains to bow at Lance as he passed by, bent low at the waist despite the bulky armor they wore. At the very least, their armor fit them far better than the ones Altean soldiers were expected to wear.

Not to mention, their increased prevalence provided Lance many opportunities to ogle some wonderfully built shoulders and trim waists. Of course, their ever-pervasive looming also meant that Lance would be far less apt to sneak around as he pleased, but perhaps that was for the best.

Keith would certainly be pleased with that, Lance thought.

And, despite their handsome faces and impressive physiques, none of the Blade guards held Lance’s undying attention the way Keith somehow still did.

He wished he felt more askance when the realization struck. Attentions and affections steeped in more than simple lust and base intrigue very rarely heralded anything particularly fortuitous for Lance. Of course, never had he actually been so utterly taken before, so it was possible he was simply being dramatic over his first genuine crush.

“These things happen, my prince,” Coran once said to him upon noticing Lance’s uncharacteristically rapt attention to one of their more dashing guards some odd years ago — not quite a crush, but Lance’s _attentions_ had certainly been piqued.

“It’s natural for a young man such as yourself to develop these kinds of feelings,” Coran had continued, sitting Lance down over a plate of fresh juniberry pies. “That’s just part of growing up. Of course, some discretion is always advised when it comes to matters such as these, especially considering your… circumstances.”

Coran smiled thinly. Lance returned it as smoothly as he could. That is to say, he grinned tersely, and Coran’s gaze had softened upon its approach.

“But I’m certain you’ll approach this new development of yours prudently.”

“Haven’t I always?” Lance muttered wryly.

Coran’s expression shuddered, and even now Lance thought he should’ve been kinder about it. Perhaps he would’ve, if only kindness came so easily.

“Yes. I suppose you have,” Coran whispered, and that had been the end of that talk. Lance’s father never saw fit to add his own flair to the issue, to Lance’s undying delight and gratitude, and Lance had been left to his own devices regarding his more sordid escapades.

For the best, he thought. After all, _some_ mistakes had to be made to achieve optimal results, in the end. That drunken stable, hay-ridden romp with one of Altea’s head knights may have been embarrassing, to say the least, but Lance had learned quite intimately how well privacy paid as a result.

Except, apparently none of his previous mistakes had prepared him for this in the slightest.

He thought about Keith an awful lot. As his time in Marmora approached its end at an alarming rate, flurrying past him with the same haste as maids and guards scurrying down the halls, Keith continued to inundate Lance’s mind with a terrifying ferocity.

Even though he couldn’t. Such thoughts and feelings were so far-removed from prudent he could’ve cried. Or laughed, but his stomach churned too intensely from this new magic for that.

Kelpie tails. They had extracted a few seaweed strands from a kelpie for this new spell, and the salt water sloshing through him left quite the unfortunate tang in the base of his throat — and the bottom of his lungs, along with the back of his eyes whenever he say Lady Laod’ka still carrying around her old, faithful steed.

Suddenly, this didn’t feel so fun anymore.

So, Lance sought solace in himself. Alone. He sent Romelle and Kinkade away with a casual flick of his wrist, citing fatigue after expending so much of his magic. Furthermore, the new suppressant spell was wreaking havoc on his system once more, and it would likely be for the best if they left him in peace.

Romelle knitted her brows tightly. “Are you sure? You know we don’t mind watching over you, even when you’re… worse for wear.”

“I’m sure. As much as I adore your company, I think I’d rather enjoy being left alone today. It would be easier for me to settle, I think.”

Romelle’s lips thinned, but she said nothing to the contrary. Kinkade, on the other hand, stared down at Lance suspiciously.

As usual.

Kinkade never did fully trust Lance most of the time. Though, for the most part, he had a fairly good reason for his suspicions. Especially after that stable sex incident. Still, that didn’t mean Lance had to appreciate the hesitance.

“Are you sure?” Kinkade echoed but slower this time — firmer and stolid. “I hesitate to leave you alone after that incident a few days ago.”

“I know, but you’ve seen how much the Blade has reinforced its security measures. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not as if I’m going very far, after all,” Lance replied smoothly.

Kinkade looked on, unconvinced, but after a few more desperate glances from Lance, he eventually acquiesced.

“Fine. We’ll not be far if you need us,” Kinkade sighed. Behind him, Romelle nodded with vigor.

“Yes. I know. Thank you.”

And, for once, Lance didn’t cause them any troubles. That night, he rode out his salt water nausea in his room, cocooned in dim lighting and incense of lightning-shorn waves in relative peace, save for the thoughts of Keith, Keith, _Keith_ that would not leave him, no matter how much he wished for it.

 

* * *

 

 

He couldn’t say the same for his activities the next day.

The whole castle was in a frenzy. This long, drawn-out, and dramatic conference was about to come to an end, and the Blade castle staff worked tirelessly to prepare for the farewell ceremony while simultaneously maintaining increased security. Even Romelle and Kinkade found themselves swept away by the fervor, unceremoniously wrangled into helping with solidifying the final touches.

Thus leaving Lance to his own devices.

Predictably, he wandered.

This time, he wandered without the intention of discovering anything. Nonetheless, he grew restless left to himself without even Kinkade and Romelle’s lingering scents to comfort him. Mindlessly, he walked on, unbothered as several guards blustered around him, presumably to switch shifts.

(And this trip of his was certainly not at all influenced by a deep-set, blaze-rooted desire to see, speak to, simply _be_ with Keith once more before this visit ended. No, of course not. That would be far too sentimental for him. Especially when he couldn’t truly afford any of it.)

Lance walked. People passed by him in a flurry of hasty movement, only stopping every-so-often to offer him a standard greeting because, insignificant as he may be in the grand scheme of the political realm, he was still a prince.

He was still a prince, and he was still a damn fool.

He didn’t remember the path to Keith’s quarters. That required too much attention on his part, which had been otherwise occupied with thoughts of long fingers and longer legs when Keith dragged him there, away from the dungeons. Lance couldn’t recall at all the exact steps through the corridors that might lead them there in the slightest, even as the memory of that ephemeral moment sank down deep, like a stone set ablaze in ceremonial farewell.

And that, he supposed, was how he found himself near the dungeons once more instead of in front of Keith’s quarters like a sad, ravenous part of him hoped for.

Except, this time, he hadn’t even intended to sneak around here in the hopes of uncovering some of the Blade’s many secrets; after his last escapade here, he decided that Allura might actually be right when she always told Lance he was hardly suited for espionage.

“I think flattery suits you best,” she often told him. “You’re very good at making others feels comfortable and open in your presence. I wish I could do the same.”

“You might have more luck if you didn’t always give people such overbearing looks,” Lance would counter, and that would be the end of that, courtesy of Allura’s resulting fury.

Still, despite all of that, Lance found himself inching closer and closer to the dungeon entrance. The halls were vacant, the guards gone — busy with other duties, apparently. So, none of them lingered nearby enough to stop Lance. Furthermore, Keith, too, left Lance to wander.

For better or for worse.

Likely for the worst.

Lance crept closer and overheard voices — low, mumbled things that hardly even counted as sound. They floated over him low, sinking down with a false haze that left his skin fluttering and traitorously curious.

Keith’s voice. One of those was certainly Keith’s voice, dipped and crudely insisted, but smooth and tempered regardless. The other voice held a certain accent, not unlike the one his fellow Alteans spoke with.

Lance’s curiosity slipped into something distinctly unpleasant. His nerves racked and rattled, and his head trembles from the force of it all.

There were many Alteans still missing today from the Galra Empire’s last large-scale invasion on Altea. Too many for him to remember, in fact. The years since then may have been plentiful, but Altean’s lived terribly long lives, and they were horrifically well-equipped to deal with a wide range of physical trauma — even if they’d rather pass than suffer any more.

Lance knew that. He knew how his previous guard had looked after his return from his time in one of the Galra Empire’s strongholds. Lance saw how he had acted, listless and despondent, hardly capable of eating without insistent coaxing and even a bit of hand-feeding.

It had been hard to force-feed him, prideful he had been in the past. It made Lance feel like a disrespectful scourge, and, sometimes, it left him in tears.

And, of course, Lance remembered just how devastated Kinkade had been upon finding his own father’s body a few weeks later, slumped on the marble tile, red and weak.

That had been the first and last time Lance had seen Kinkade cry. The only time he had ever called him Ryan because ‘Kinkade’ left them both far too raw now.

And, marvelous as the funeral ceremony may have been, with its sunrise dewdrop farewell veils dipped in the spring of a field of Undines, Kinkade had never been quite the same since.

So, despite himself, Lance moved forward, farther into the dungeons. The doorways parted easily for him, probably left open for Keith and his mystery prisoner. Quietly — quickly, quicker now — Lance made his way down the winding corridors, following the sound of the increasingly-clear voices.

“We … help you,” Lance vaguely heard Keith say.

“And?” the other voice said.

“... beneficial for us both,” Keith replied.

“You know what I want.”

“I can’t…”

Lance moved faster now. Keith’s words, softly spoken and leavened with patience, reassured him a bit. At the same time, they only served to exacerbate his need to know.

He apparently knew very little.

Lance held no expectations for what he might discover. In fact, he tried valiantly to keep them at bay and tucked away in seldom-sought recesses of his mind because doing often made life just a touch easier to handle.

Sometimes.

Other times, it left him beyond taken aback upon stumbling upon Keith gently negotiating with _Lotor_ , of all people, within one of the cushiest dungeon cells Lance had ever laid eyes upon.

Lance knew Lotor. At the very least, he knew of Lotor — the Prince of the Galra Empire, renowned for his skills with a sword and his cunning nature, to boot. Less of a brute than his father but no less dangerous.

Possibly, even more dangerous.

Only once before had Lance ever laid eyes on Lotor in person. It had been at the tail end of a small invasion on a town right at the edge of Altea’s border. A small, relatively inconsequential place in the grand scheme of things. They produced a few choice goods, but they certainly didn’t offer anything especially unique or important for Altea’s economy as a whole.

But they were people. Lance’s people. They lived and loved, and Lance loved them, too. During one of his coming-of-age excursions — otherwise known as an excuse to get him out of the castle at the cusp of his presentation as an omega to avoid any potential backlash — he had travelled there to visit and help the townsfolk with their crops. They had asked for increased protection and blessings over their fields, and Lance, the very least, could help them with that.

He found the town set ablaze when he arrived, hidden beneath towers upon towers of flames.

Several of the smaller buildings had already sunken away, burnt to ashes with nothing but dried cinders left to ride the winds. He liked to imagine they were off to seek greener pastures, but hope rarely equated to reality, Lance found. Because he hoped it was nothing serious. Maybe just a wildly unfortunate accident to mourn over for a few weeks before it eventually faded into a sad, sad memory.

Then, he saw Lotor.

To be completely frank, Lotor was handsome — devilishly so, with all the suave finesse and tauntingly piercing eyes his father lacked. And, though he would never admit as much aloud, Lance’s first inclination upon seeing Lotor had been to ponder over just how attractive he looked. He smelled like mossy dew on the trunk of a nimbus-crest tree and moonlit promises, every bit the alpha Lance knew him to be.

Lance had liked that smell.

Reality set in soon afterwards.

His guards quickly drew him away, rushing through the forest into a hidden grove or hovel despite his frantic protestations.

For those were his people. How could he just leave them behind while Lotor murdered them all, smoking them out as he considered them nothing more than meager pests to be exterminated in a single, fell swoop?

Yet, he did. They took him away, kept him safe by knocking him out because, ‘our apologies, Your Highness, but your fussing had been simply too loud, and our first priority is to ensure your safety’. The Galra Empire sent word of their intentions, and that had been that.

And Lance had heard little of Prince Lotor since then. The whispers of the Altea Castle speculated for some time before settling on ‘hidden away his own safety after the Galra Empire’s series of major losses to prepare for his uprising’, and Lance willfully thought nothing more of it.

He could not do so anymore.

Because there Lotor was.

He sat upon a beautiful bedspread, laid upon a large bed that looked ridiculously — unnecessarily — plush. Even his expression edged on plush. Either way, he certainly looked lax as he spoke to Keith who, in turn, peered down at Lotor with the kind of patience Lance could never possess.

Not with Lotor, at any rate. Never with Lotor.

Lance stepped forward — loudly. His thoughts rattled far too raucously in his head for him to pay much mind to keeping stealthy. Both Keith and Lotor looked over at him quickly, but Lance couldn’t even bother to try to hide now.

Keith’s expression was positively shocked. Then, it shuttered.

Lotor, on the other hand, simply looked amused.

“Lance,” Keith rasped quietly. He stepped out and away from the prison cell hastily, nearly tripping over himself as he locked the room with fumbling hands. “How did you get here?”

“I walked,” Lance deadpanned.

Keith’s lips thinned, and his steps grew wary. “But — the guards —“

“They were gone. Changing shifts, I suppose.”

Keith cursed under his breath. He continued to approach Lance slowly, as if Lance were the beast here. Not the man in the extravagant cell wearing the shit-eating grin.

Lotor smelled the same, apparently. Lance liked the smell by itself, but, in combination with Keith’s, he wanted to hurl.

“What are you doing here?” Keith whispered. He sounded sad.

Lance, on the other hand, only felt righteous anger.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

Keith paused. He spared one last glance over his shoulder towards Lotor — that smug bastard — before turning his attention back to Lance.

“Let’s — Let’s discuss this elsewhere,” Keith suggested hesitantly.

“Why? I think I’d quite like to speak about this here.”

“ _Please_.”

“No,” Lance said harshly, voice rising in an angry swell. “No. You do not get to wheedle your way out of this with a few sweet platitudes and sorry looks somewhere else where things are safe. Where there are other things to distract me.”

His words echoed harshly against the stone walls, and he watched Keith flinch as they struck him.

Good.

Because Lance seethed. He breathed and burned rage, and, by the Moon, her stars, and every single icy cold pinprick of magic coursing through his veins, he would not be consoled so easily.

“You will explain to me why you have that… that _murderer_ in your care here.”

Keith shook his head before answering lamely. “He’s our prisoner.”

Lance snarled, backing away harshly before Keith could even attempt to reach a tentative hand out to him.

“Don’t. Don’t act like you think I’m a fucking fool! Your sweet-talking and gentle looks can’t help you now,” Lance hissed. “Because I know. I know exactly what a prisoner looks like. A real prisoner. He is not your prisoner. After all, why would you even presume to speak so kindly to your prisoner as he lays upon a mountain of plush down?”

“Lance, please —“

“You don’t have the right to speak to me that way now.”

“Goddamnit, Lance, can you just calm down and listen to me?” Keith demanded.

Lance seethed even more.

“I think I’m perfectly calm. Cool-headed. Rational, even. After all, I’m not the one housing the Prince of the Galra Empire in the nicest prison suite I own. But, I’ve said my piece. I could say more, but I doubt I really have to,” Lance said shortly. “Say yours. The truth, this time.”

Keith blinked, like a child thrown to the wolves by his own parents.

Once again, Lance took sick satisfaction in that.

“Lotor… he sought asylum with us,” Keith admitted slowly.

“Asylum?” Lance asked, incredulous. “For what? His war madness?”

“He told us he no longer agreed with Zarkon’s ambitions, and he wanted protection from any potential repercussions.”

“So you agreed to give him sanctuary?”

Keith hesitated, even though the answer was clear. “Yes. Otherwise, they would’ve certainly killed him for being a traitor.”

Silence overtook them, and Lance inhaled deeply before speaking. “You should have let them.”

“Don’t say that,” Keith countered. “He knows a great deal about the Galra Empire which could prove useful to us.”

“Is that so? Well, what have you learned so far?”

“I — I can’t tell you,” Keith stuttered.

“Of course not. It seemed to me that you’re still struggling to get said information.”

“You’re being short-sighted,” Keith argued. “He can’t wreak any havoc while he’s here. We have him under control. At the very least, he poses little threat now.”

“Short-sighted? You think I’m being short-sighted? About a mass murderer?” Lance demanded.

“You need to think bigger, about the long-run. About the larger-scale of things.”

Keith sighed dramatically, and Lance thought such overt displays were more appropriate coming from, rather than he man staring down at Lance as if he were an uncultured child.

And yet, Keith claimed them for himself with nary a qualm.

“This isn’t just about you or Altea. You must know that. You cannot act as if only your opinions matter,” Keith said calmly. He sounded like he truly believed in his words. “This is not an issue you can act so selfishly on. Altea just doesn’t have that kind of sway anymore.”

And Lance nearly strangled Keith then and there.

Except, doing so would likely result in a bit of an uproar, to say the least, and he wasn’t _short_ - _sighted_ enough to forget that.

So, instead, he leaned forward, expression smoothed into something resembling begrudging acceptance. Keith, the asshole, fell for it, moving in close. He looked hopeful, Lance noted.

Clearly, Keith was an idiot _and_ an asshole.

Lance cocked his head to the side and beckoned Keith in even further to whisper in his ear. And, when he did, Lance spoke.

“How dare you act as though you have done no wrong here? As if you have not wronged any of us?” Lance whispered. He dipped his fingers in tight against Keith’s clavicle to hold him still. “You have mocked me and the rest of Altea every step of the way, and you have done so with a smile on your face. Tell me, did you have fun? Playing the part of the grand conductor? Watching me fall for it?”

“No. Please, Lance, that was never my intention. You must know that. You must know what kind of opportunity this presents us. All of us,” Keith gusted.

“Even so, to do this without consulting the rest of us who have suffered so much at the hands of the Galra Empire — “ Lance dug his nails in deep “ — is an insult far greater than I can take.”

“Please,” Keith whispered.

Futile were his efforts, for Lance would not be reconciled.

“I will offer you and the Blade a single grace, and that is that I won’t utter a word to anyone. I expect you and Lord Kolivan to do that.”

Lance drew away and found himself face-to-face with Keith, despondent and diminutive.

“Lotor’s terms included that we keep his existence here a secret,” Keith explained weakly.

“That’s not good enough.”

“Lance,” Keith breathed, voice trembling. He reached out once before dropping his hand gracelessly. “Please, don’t look at me like that.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s not that easy. Life is just not that easy.”

He pulled away. Keith did not stop him. Then, he turned heel and strode out.

And Keith did not stop him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

No one missed Lance’s foul mood during the farewell ceremony, but they, thankfully, all knew better than to push him on the subject. Instead, the stood beside him in silence as they marched along, past the rows and rows of soldiers stationed around them to send them off safely.

Lord Kolivan stood atop a balcony perched high above the rest of them to watch the proceedings. In the crowd, Lance overheard murmurs of how regal and stalwart Kolivan looked up there, decorated with his battle gear, Royal Sword fixed faithfully to his side.

Lance only saw red.

So, he passed through the procession as quickly as he could, all while avoiding any attempts at searching for Keith past the banners that waved him away.

Because, even now, Lance was the biggest damn fool of them all.

He still wore Keith’s coat. Briefly, after the confrontation in the dungeons, he considered tearing the coat apart, or even burning in it some sort of cathartic ritual.

Except, the more he thought about it, the less inclined he felt towards any of it. In the end, in a half-crazed state born of a volatile mixture of rage and despair, he simply folded it up nice and neat to be dealt with another day.

And now he bore it upon his shoulders.

If he were smarter, more reasonable, he would weep over it.

Perhaps, they were right. Maybe an omega’s hormones truly did predispose them towards terrible, dangerous thoughts actions and actions. Maybe he was just a liability — a plague upon Altea.

Weak.

He shut his eyes against the blinding sun and felt ill. And so, so weak.

But they had almost reached the end now. Soon, his weakness would no longer shroud him so intimately, like a lingering nightmare holding his body down in the darkness of his thoughts.

He could hardly wait.

There were closer now. Finally, he could just about breathe.

The scent of lightning-kissed waves caught in the midst of a firestorm hit him two steps later. It came upon him fast and fierce, and he nearly fell with it. As it were, he nonetheless staggered, only to be righted by a strong, slim hand, and the smell of blazing wood grew ever stronger.

Keith.

“Before you go, please accept this,” Keith said in a blur, pressing something insistently into Lance’s palm. “I implore you.”

“As if that’ll do you any good now,” Lance muttered.

“I can only hope it does.”

Keith’s voice sounded unfairly sincere, and Lance’s throat clenched behind himself. Without even thinking, Lance closed his grip.

He glanced down. In his hand lay a stunning crystal, absolutely clear and polished to perfection. The magic imbued within felt like nothing he could sense on Marmora, yet it still burned with Keith’s scent.

“It’s a communion stone,” Keith explained. His words came out in a rush, probably because he couldn’t afford to hold up the procession much longer, but time felt slow for Lance despite it. “With it, you can speak to me directly, whenever you’d like.”

“How presumptuous of you.”

“I just want to be able to apologize properly.”

Lance shook his head. His eyes felt hot, and his head pounded almost as fiercely as his heart. “You know what you have to do for that.”

“Yes. I know. But I wanted you to have this, too, just in case.” He bowed his head to meet Lance’s lowered gaze, and his eyes said more than Lance thought he even knew. “I would like nothing more than to speak to you again, you know.”

Lance opened his mouth to speak, only to be met with a heavy lump in his throat, spiked to shear his voice apart until he bled out into a sad, sick mess of the weak omega he had become.

The one he had always been.

He swallowed down blood. “We’ll… see.”

Keith smiled. That, too, was far more sincere than Lance could take. “Thank you.”

Finally, Keith let go, and the procession continued. The whispers grew even more frantic, and the looks everyone gave him seared through his skull like the flames of the village that day.

He felt like he might die. Either way, the effort of swallowing down even more blood hurt like hell.

Nonetheless, he walked on, and not once did he peer behind him in a pitiful attempt to catch a glimpse of Keith’s face.

But he wanted to. Oh, did he want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this just to spite everyone who loves the way Keith is portrayed in this story LOL (but of course just kidding; I’ve had this planned out for awhile)
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think!! 
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


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